Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4991776.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Mass_Effect
  Relationship:
      Cassandra_Denners/Teveus_Canlin, Original_Female_Human_Character(s)/
      Original_Male_Turian_Character(s)
  Character:
      Cassandra_Denners, Teveus_Canlin, Original_Female_Human_Character(s),
      Original_Male_Turian_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Porn, so_much_porn, Feels?, Come_Eating, Knotting, Cunnilingus, Vaginal
      Sex, Dirty_Talk, Bad_Dirty_Talk, Pet_Names, Cassandra_puts_up_with_them,
      Cultural_Differences
  Series:
      Part 5 of Cassandra_&_Teveus
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-13 Words: 5726
****** The Exchange ******
by Chromaticism
Summary
     Teveus finds the confidence to talk a little about his past.
     Cassandra and Teveus talk about the future, and then Teveus' sexually
     charged mind happens. Help?
     In short: pornpornfeelsfeelspornpornpornPORNPORNPORN
Notes
     3rd year of university sucks. :(((
     I'll try and update Fortuitous next. I really should have updated
     that mooonths ago. *hopes no one mentions Coffee and Spectres*
     I'm the worst.
Cassandra woke up with a groan.
“Sleep well?”
As she tried to turn to face Teveus, she was reminded of the deep bite Teveus
had made yesterday where her neck met her shoulder. The pain wasn’t quite
agony, but it was close.
Teveus was quick to take notice of the pain she was going through. He was very
gentle and slow as he moved her; fitting considering he was the cause of her
pain. When he had finished, her back and head were well supported by the firm,
but soft, cushions he preferred over pillows.
“Easy there,” he murmured, readjusting her posture with slow, gentle motions
until she was back in the position she had woken up in. Now that she was more
awake, she became aware of the bandage on her neck. His hands parted with her,
and she was about to whine at the loss of his warm, caring touch when his
forehead touched her own.
“We need to keep it elevated to reduce the swelling,” Teveus explained. “I
cleaned it and applied medigel whilst you were asleep last night.”
He paused, a slight smile crossing his mandibles before his face left her
vision and he cuddled up to her.
“I really wore you out, didn’t I?”
Cassandra was right to have thought his ego would inflate to unreached highs if
the smugness in his voice was any indicator.
“If ‘I’ means ‘my mouth and its daggers’ then sure, Teveus,” she said, wincing
at the throbbing in her neck.
He flashed a wide smile at her, flashing the ‘daggers’ as they’d come to be
known.
“You like these daggers,” he purred before cuddling closer so he could nuzzle
the uninjured side of her neck. As he pulled away, Cassandra could have sworn
she felt the graze of his teeth against her neck and she let out an involuntary
shiver. Judging by the shit-eating grin on his face as he pulled away, she
definitely had.
“But for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”
She couldn’t entirely buy his apology with the dancing his mandibles were
doing, but she would forgive him this once.
“You are forgiven,” she said, falling back onto her cushion with a long sigh.
A large leathery hand fell on her naked thigh and rubbed in slow, sensual
circles.
“Of course I am,” he rumbled.
“Cocky ass turian,” she said, but there was no disguising the affection in her
tone. “I knew I would have been better off going celibate.”
“There are indeed things worse than death,” he quipped back. A snort escaped
her as she gazed at him, loving the constant smile on his face. Even if their
situation was completely fucked up, just a few wisecracks from him could make
her forget for a few moments longer.
“I love it when you smile,” she mumbled, a smile of her own crossing her face.
Maybe whatever they had, despite how illegal or wrong it was, was right. She’d
never been a sap, but again, Teveus made her do and feel things she’d never
have ever considered.
“... You do?”
“Yes. So much.”
Teveus seemed to crumple upon himself, the smile on his face fading and his
head lowering, but before she could get a handle on his emotional state his
face had buried itself in her neck.
“Well… before you came I didn’t really have much to smile about. All of my
family apart from my father and I dead. My extended family wiped out.
Everything I’d ever known… gone.”
“I remember one of the first things I said to you was that Palaven was boring…
it was more that there was nothing left worth going back for.”
“The only thing Palaven has over Earth at the moment is the food.. I mean do
you remember how close I was to being on the verge of being emaciated before
you came?”
His ensuing laugh completely lacked mirth and just sounded like he was on the
brink of despair. Cassandra had never considered the possibility that he’d been
starving himself when she’d first met him, but she had to ask.
“Why weren’t you eating?”
“In the beginning, I would just skip a meal here and there. Then that
eventually devolved into eating every other day.”
Cassandra’s first inclination was to wrap her arms around his head, which she
did do, and then murmur consolations under her breath until this upset passed.
But she wasn’t dealing with a emotionally mercurial human teenager or an adult,
for that matter, and what was the protocol with a turian? One so deeply
entrenched in your heart?
“Then I saw you, and it wasn’t love at first sight or anything. I’ll leave the
clichés to human movies. I did have a crush though, and I’ve always found
humans strangely attractive. I just thought to myself, let’s try this and maybe
you’ll feel alive for maybe a few days and not like a corpse that’s past its
day.”
She pushed his shoulder in reprimand, provoking a short grunt from him as he
rubbed his face against her skin, attempting to hide even further from her.
“Don’t talk like that… but, in the beginning, I was a distraction?”
His voice usually had a delicious flange that could make her wet alone in
physical contact, but in this current moment, his voice had a sort of low
buzzing quality to it that put her on edge. Was he crying? Or the turian
equivalent of it? Or was he just angry?
“It wasn’t just the sex. It was nice to talk to someone who felt like they were
willing to make time for me. Ever since mother died, my father threw himself
back into any duty that he could find. At times, it felt like the most
interaction I had with him before you came was when he’d ensure I’d eaten
something.”
“It’s probably wrong to have thought like this, but even with the whole galaxy
seeming to be teetering on its axis, I just wanted to feel like the most
important thing… to at least someone. Not very turian of me, huh? It’s meant to
be all about the duty with us...”
“Perhaps not,” she said, slowly digesting everything he’d said. “Perhaps you’re
not the ideal turian. However, what I do know is that I’m in love with possibly
the most caring turian I’ve ever met. Maybe even the most caring turian there
ever was. He has so much heart and is so sincere in his affection that I’ve
never felt so cared for, and quite frankly, adored, in my entire life.”
His arms wrapped around her midsection, and the ensuing tremor he made as he
held onto her like she was his life-raft made her voice crack as she continued.
“He may not have the typical aspirations of a turian, maybe not even the
utilitarian mindset that has defined them for so long, but he has something
just as important, if not more important, than that.”
She couldn’t make out what he mumbled into her neck between the shaky heaves of
his body against her, but she could guess.
“If I was this turian, I’d make a wisecrack and say ‘your love’, but since I am
not, I’ll let him know that what makes him so special to me is his unfailing
ability to brighten up a room. For the little people like you and me, that is
way more fucking important in these times. I may have breached one of the
biggest taboos of human society with you, but I don’t regret a moment of it.”
“I love you, Teveus. Bad turian or not,” she said, fighting the urge to cry.
Especially with Teveus’ embrace leaving her unable to wipe the traitorous tears
forming in her eyes.
“I do have a question though,” she said with a half-hearted smirk that he
couldn’t see, “what brought this on?”
His head emerged from her neck, thankfully, but found a new hiding place in her
cheek. Cassandra was beginning to grow even more worried until his face began
to nuzzle her cheek.
“You deserved to know,” he said, “you’ve told me a lot more about yourself,
before the Reapers, than I have.”
“Tell me more. About the happier times,” she said, holding her breath as his
nuzzling stopped and he seemed to stop taking audible inhales.
“Okay,” he murmured, angling his face so that he spoke directly into her ear.
“My mother’s side of the family, Canlin, which my father mated into, is big;
like dozens and dozens of turians big. It’s one of the most prolific clans on
Palaven that isn’t from Cipritine. That’s the capital of Palaven. So whilst my
parents fought on the Fleet, I was back on Palaven with the rest of the family.
They visited every so often and vid called me every other day. It wasn’t that
bad.”
He sighed, sending a great puff of hot air against her ear.
“We owned a lot of land, like maybe just over two hundred thousand acres? It’s
been in my family for centuries, perhaps even at least a millennium. Lots of
forest, steppes, and jungle along the coast. It was nice. Me and my cousins
would spend our free-time trailblazing and exploring. There were little
outhouses and watchtowers littered about as the Hierarchy occasionally used our
land for wargames, so we never got lost. We were allowed to watch some times as
well. One of my cousins, Pelas, got in a huge amount of trouble for using one
of the latrines during a war game. I can still smell the stench that used to
cling to him.”
He laughed a little in reminiscence.
He shuffled closer so that he was almost lying completely on top of her, one of
his legs between her own, and his keel digging into her side. Their increased
proximity seemed to give him more confidence as his voice became clearer. He
was heavy, but she didn’t want to ruin his momentum so she just sucked it up.
“We hosted, and in some cases owned, a lot of hydroponics labs that are vital
to feeding outer colony efforts. Then there’s also the huge horticultural
business that had been in the family for centuries. We were incredibly wealthy,
in short. I was likely going to avoid the draft as my mother was planning to
honourably discharge from the military and help me prepare for selection for
public medic training… and then everything went wrong as you can imagine.”
“Well… I find it rather fitting that the child of my final client is… I mean..
two hundred thousand acres… I’m fairly sure that that is like a small country.
Wow…” she mumbled.
“Lots of space to run,” he said, and she could feel the smile he was making as
his mandibles flicked gently against her neck.
He fell silent after that comment, simply breathing slowly into her ear as she
digested what he’d said.
“Thank you for sharing, Teveus,” she said, stroking his back leisurely.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said lazily.
… Cassandra found herself half-expecting someone to pop up behind him with a
drum kit and play a rimshot. Or perhaps for Teveus to exuberantly shout ‘April
Fools!’. Something. Anything.
“Baby?”
“Yes, baby. You’re my girlfriend, and as far as I know humans like endearments
that liken them to infants or livestock, so I’ll call you baby, baby. At least
until I find one that I like more...”
“We’ve just had a good conversation, Teveus,” she said, a growing warning in
her voice.
“...And I’m not livestock,” she added hastily.
“By good, I hope you meant revealing, baby. And you’re not just any old
livestock, you’re my livestock.”
His mandibles were quivering against her skin.
“Stop that… big boy,” she said, fighting the urge to put her head in her hands
for descending to his level.
“You just called me big boy. That’s even worse than baby, baby.”
“No it’s not… big boy.”
Despite big boy supposedly being worse than baby, Teveus chuckled.
“Considering our situation, I don’t think calling me big boy is a good idea,
baby.”
It felt like Cassandra’s whole body cringed in response to that, her body
seeming to go into the beginning throes of an epileptic fit. Teveus laughed
hard into her ear and gave her a playful squeeze as her body twitched. Despite
that involuntary reaction, an idea emerged from that misplaced abomination of
an endearment.
“I think I’m going to own our situation by calling you big boy in private, big
boy. I can’t spend all of our time together griping over the fact that you
won’t be legal for a month.”
His laughter broke abruptly as he slowly considered her thoughts.
“That’s a smart way of looking at it, baby… I kind of like it when you call me
big boy. I am pretty big, you know?”
“I’m well aware.”
“You’re already messing up, baby. Call me big boy,” he purred in her ear. You
could almost think that five minutes ago he wasn’t to the point of dry heaving
out of misery, and now he was doing his best to try and get her in the mood it
would seem. She didn’t know whether his ability to bounce between moods was
just inherently ‘Teveus’ or just a sign of how much comfort he gained from her.
Turians were just confusing in general.
“Big muscles… big hands… big dick,” he rumbled as a roaming hand found her hip,
“you know, baby, by turian standards I’m considered a serious looker so,
despite my age, I’m quite a catch.”
Cassandra was fighting the urge to giggle as he continued his monologue.
“You sound like something out of a porno,” she said, continuing to fight the
good battle against her need to laugh.
“Big boy,” he added dryly, “and anyway, if I was something out of a porno, I’d
be growling in your ear, a bit like this: ‘do you want some big turian cock,
human’ and ‘you’re so soft, soft-skin’... baby.”
She lost the battle and started to laugh as he continued to rumble and growl in
her ear.
“‘You like these ridges, human?’.. ‘Take all of this, human, this is where you
belong,’... baby.”
“Is that seriously what turian-human interspecies porn is like, big boy?” She
wiped a tear from her eye as she came down from her laughing fit.
“Mostly. There are some hidden gems though. We can watch them together, if you
want. I’m not going to lie… there’s a lot of things, sex-wise, I’d like to try
with you.”
At this, Cassandra had to raise an eyebrow. What did he have in mind?
“Baby.” At this point, the correction she made was subconscious and she easily
ignored the smile that crossed her face when Teveus nuzzled her throat in a
clear expression of how pleased he was she’d accepted it. “What do you have in
mind, big boy?”
“I’d like to see you in full leather. Skin-tight. From what I’ve seen, it looks
really hot… and I think I might just bend you over in public if you wore it,
baby.”
A shiver went down her spine at the rough, lustful tone his voice took at his
claim of possibly fucking her in public.
“I like exhibitionism too, baby,” he said, or rather assured, with a lick
around the rim of her ear.
“Damn it, Teveus, it’s not my fault you’ve made a nympho out of me,” she said.
“... Big boy,” he said, “and what’s a nympho?”
“A nymphomaniac; a sex addict,” she said.
He snorted.
“You’re an honorary turian then. If we’re not preoccupied with a job, we’re
fucking or killing something,” he said. “Our lack of a proper neurological
response to stress means we can’t easily mentally unwind like humans can. We
need to release tension physically; so that means fighting or sex, baby.”
“And you’ve given me a whole lot of sex, big boy,” she said.
“Baby, I plan on giving you lots more too... I also want you to tie me up and
ride me. A blindfold too would be good,” he added with a low moan.
“You’re… really, really kinky, big boy,” she said, shaking her head in
disbelief. She didn’t know who created this monster, but they were particularly
thorough. Or perhaps this was a case of the pot calling the kettle black?
“As if you’re one to talk, baby. You fantasize about me knotting your mouth.”
Pot and kettle it was. “Speaking of knotting though, haven’t you wondered why
your lower half isn’t a mess?”
His warm hand ran along the length of her sex in a tantalizing drag.
“I assumed you wiped me down,” she said between a slight hitch in her breath as
he began to rub and pinch at her clit with the pads of his fingers.
“Well, after I finished play- I mean, grooming your hair, I laid you on your
back and waited for my knot to go down,” he said.
“You were on top of me?” She asked, struggling to keep her voice even as he
traced her clit with the blunt of a talon.
“I didn’t put my weight on you. It’s just that you kept on slumping over whilst
I was trying to keep your bite mark elevated. Anyway, baby, when my knot
finally began to lessen, it just.. spilled forth.”
“There was so much and with how much my knot had stretched you...” he trailed
off with a low growl in her ear. She could hear the sound of him gnashing his
teeth as he bared them against her ear.
“All that turian cum spilling from your cunt… my cum. I had to really fight the
urge to fuck you again, to reseal it all in your pussy, baby,” he ground out,
and she could believe the struggle he’d had last night by the sheer want that
was in his voice; the breathy growls his voice had become. She could add a
creampie fetish to the list of fetishes he had. What a pair they were...
“I’d filled you up to the brim so well” he said slowly and deliberately, “and
watching your pussy gush it on to the mattress gave me an idea, baby.”
He then moved his head away from her ear and moved down her body until he was
above her sex. He then took a long, slow lick of her cunt, looking intently at
her as he did so.
He didn’t...
“I licked you clean,” he said, continuing to lap at her entrance whilst a
finger found her clit again. “I’d always thought you tasted good, but us
together…” And the rumbling growl he made into her crotch made her body slacken
onto the bed.
“It was delicious,” he said, “and after I get you wet for me, I’m going to get
some more, baby.”
She could only watch spellbound as that prehensile tongue of his began to snake
into her cunt. Looking down at him as he serviced her was almost too much. The
sight of his long fringe arcing above him, his lime-green markings framing the
mouth that was intently exploring her depths, and the predatory hazel eyes that
wouldn’t break eye contact with her as he yet again showed her the benefits of
a rough, long and flexible tongue. Then there were the happy growls he made
intermittently between the departures and re-entries of his tongue from her
sex. He was just too much.
Cassandra did the only thing that was rational. She held his head down and
thrust her hips back onto his tongue. Unfortunately, that must have been the
wrong idea as he pulled his tongue out.
“One second,” Teveus murmured. He quickly moved more cushions underneath her
back after prompting her to move. Once he was satisfied with whatever his plan
was, he wrapped her legs around his cowl and buried his face back where it
belonged.
“Is your shoulder okay, baby? We can stop if you want,” he said, slowly swiping
at her slit with his tongue between every word.
She shook her head frantically; the sooner he continued to eat her out the
better.
When his tongue immediately surged inside of her and rubbed against her g-spot,
she exploded into rapture. Between her whining moans, she managed to impart a
single piece of wisdom for Teveus.
“Keep doing that and I think I’ll never remember that you’re seventeen, big
boy.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t react at all to her comment by focussing his attention
on her g-spot, or by joking back at her. Instead, he pushed even more of his
tongue into her until it began to fold back upon itself.
How long was his fucking tongue?
Then the doubled over part of his tongue met her g-spot and somehow both parts
of his tongue managed to rub against it in tandem.
Her vision went white and her toes curled as she came.
It couldn’t have been long since her orgasm ended, but it felt like it’d been
hours when Teveus slapped his cock against her cunt. He was knelt in front of
her and idly rubbing himself against her. Wet sounds filled the room as the
thick head of his cock repeatedly slipped in and out of their combined slick as
he gazed wantingly at her opening. She looked at his smooth ribbed, and quite
frankly, monstrously long cock and rubbed her suddenly aching clit. Did he know
how much she wanted it? She could see how big his knot was already, dark brown
and swollen with his dark blue blood, even from here.
“Will you let me make love to you, Cassandra?” He asked.
“Of course, Teveus,” she said, shaking her head in bewilderment. Did he even
have to ask?
Teveus moved his upper half until their foreheads met and slid into her sopping
sex with a flex of his hips. They groaned in unison at the feeling of his cock
slowly sliding into her until he bottomed out. His knot was a hot weight
against the lips of her sex and her clit, and she had to fight the urge to make
him shove it in. Cassandra wrapped her arms around his cowl, ignoring the pang
of pain in her shoulder, and he in turn wrapped his around her back, being
careful of her injured shoulder as he moved his arms. Before he began to
thrust, she quickly wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her forehead
back against his.
“Are you ready, baby?”
She simply nodded and he smiled before his mouth descended on hers. His kiss
could just have easily described the action that proceeded to ensue in her sex.
Slow. Sloppy. Wet.
She couldn’t get enough of either.
Between her arousal, his arousal and the copious amounts of saliva he’d left
inside her, his cock moved in her like a hot knife through butter. There was no
resistance, just a simple glide of his cock through and against her pleasure
centres. One particular thrust punched directly against her cervix and her
thighs tightened in reflex around his waist.
His tongue briefly disengaged from hers, and his taloned hand came to rest
behind her head as he spoke against her lips.
“Shit, baby,” he groaned, giving a quick lick at her lips as he spoke, “are you
trying to make me cum early?”
“I could say the same,” she gasped out as he angled his slow thrusts against
her g-spot in revenge.
“Spirits.. you feel so good.”
She could feel his deep voice reverberating throughout her body, from the tips
of her toes to her ears. It was just sheer sensory overload. Just from his cock
there were the ridges rubbing against her walls, the knot pressing against her
clit with each deep snap of his hips, and the head of his cock rubbing against
her back wall.
It was enough for a second orgasm. She felt like she was going to pass out as
Teveus continued to tangle his tongue with her own.
“I love how you make me feel, Teveus,” she managed to say once she’d come down
from her high.
His hips slowly began to speed up as his cock began to twitch and pulse inside
her as a signal of his impending orgasm.
“Spirits.. I’m so fucking close,” he said, finally parting his mouth from hers
to bury his face in her neck. “I’m going to knot you, baby, is that okay?”
“God yes. Do it.”
His thrusts became significantly harder as he tried to prepare her entrance for
his knot. Compared to his knot at the age of fifteen, which didn’t grow upon
orgasm and could be pulled out without hurting her, it was quite a bit bigger
than that.
With each thrust, his knot sank slightly further into her, a slight burn that
only made her want the rest of it inside of her. A gasp escaped her as one
final thrust shoved the whole thing into her and his crotch collided with hers,
leaving her clit resting against the top of his spread groin plates. After a
few slow grinds against her, spurts of his thick, hot seed filled her vagina as
he came. He hummed delightedly into her neck as his knot slowly began to grow,
spreading her lips open as it continued to swell.
“Do you feel that, baby?” He panted in her ear.
“I feel it,” she said, stroking the curve of his fringe and tightening the hold
her legs had around his waist. Even if it was physically impossible for him to
pull out, she wouldn’t let him.
“My knot stretching you open. I’ll never get over how stretchy you are. Turians
don’t stretch like this, but with how you keep on adjusting to me and keep on
widening for me, my knot just keeps on growing.”
“So that’s why I always feel like I’m being stretched within an inch of my
life,” she whined as the stretch his knot was causing began to burn. He slowly
rubbed their joint crotches together, moving his knot from side to side as he
continued to cum inside of her. His orgasms after knotting were incredibly long
by human standards, lasting anywhere from five to ten minutes, and then there
was the time after that where they could be tied together. That lasted anywhere
from half an hour to an hour.
“You love it, baby,” he said, knowing how she loved his knot inside of her.
“You know you’re meant to be calling me big boy, right?”
“I keep forgetting, big boy, but I can definitely assure you that you’re living
up to your namesake,” she grumbled as his knot finally stopped growing. She
flexed the muscles of her core in curiosity as to whether anything would
happen.
He froze, but the next spurt of cum was more intense than the previous one.
“... Are you trying to milk me or something? If so, please continue,” he said,
sighing contentedly into the crook of her neck.
She slowly flexed her muscles in a slow rhythm, enjoying the growing heat in
her sex as a result of his seed continuing to fill her. He continued to pant
heavily in her ear as she squeezed his shaft and knot. His blunt talons slipped
into her hair and began to gently scratch her scalp, and she had to fight the
urge to just close her eyes and sleep.
“Have you given any thought to the fact that we’re leaving next week, big boy?
Anywhere you want to go in particular?”
“Somewhere hot with good dextro food would be nice. If the food part is
impossible, just hot would be good. I’m not picky,” he mumbled into her collar.
“I do have a question though, baby.”
“Hmm?”
“How are we going to afford this? I know my father has been sending you a
monthly stipend, but surely that won’t be enough. I can pitch in some from the
grant I get for my course if we need it”
“It’s okay, I have a lot of money saved up from previous jobs. My clients have
always been generous -”
“Probably because they find you attractive,” he interjected snarkily into her
collar. She ignored that.
“- and I don’t have to spend much on living costs, obviously, so I’m pretty
well off. Also, the pharma executive I’ll be working for this October kind of…
he kind of gave me a lot of credits upfront,” she said hesitantly.
“Why?”
“He and his wife are.. kind of fond of me,” she said rather cryptically.
“What does that mean?” He demanded.
She hesitated slightly and panicked when his talons stopped moving through her
hair.
“They’reswingersandweslepttogetheronetime,” she said in a quick rush.
He was silent for a while but his talons began to thread through her hair
again.
“Just once?” His talons lost their footing in her hair and gently scratched
against the nape of her neck.
“Just once, and it will remain only once,” she confirmed, stroking his fringe
in an attempt to soothe him. “I told him that I’ve become involved with someone
and it’s getting serious… Are you mad?”
“Not really… just surprised, baby.” he murmured, giving her a quick kiss to
assure her. “Was he better than me in bed?”
His question came out sounding rather grumpy.
Hmm… The young turian who has had two years to learn how to pleasure her
exclusively and was pretty good to begin with, or the drunken romp she’d had
that she could barely remember.
Despite his seeming nonchalance, he had to be a little worried to have asked
such a question. Hadn’t she made it clear to him how good she thought he was in
bed?
“Of course not,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief at this sudden onset
of insecurity. “What’s with the sudden insecurity, big boy?”
“It’s just we’ve only been together, as a couple, for less than a day and it
seems like an obstacle is already waiting for us,” he said. “That’s without
going into all the turians that will be interested in you now that you won’t be
scrubbing your skin raw to get rid of my musk.”
She was looking forward to that. Wait.
“... What?”
“After Commander Shepard’s relationship with General Vakarian leaked out.. it’s
suddenly become okay in the eyes of turians for a turian to pursue a human in
public. We’re not really a monogamous species so you might have some turians
flirting with you and others asking us if they can join us for bedsport.”
“... Bedsport? I’ll ignore that and ask how they can tell that I’m with a
turian?”
“Bedsport is basically a threesome or more for fun. They can tell we’re
together by scent,” he said simply. “I’ll add that I have no interest in having
one.”
“With what knowledge I’ve gained of turians, I don’t know if that’s strange or
just possessive.”
“It’s more the latter,” he said, laughing softly. “It’s rare for even mated
couples to be completely monogamous. Besides, I’ll especially enjoy telling the
bandwagoners to fuck off.”
She let out a laugh of her own, enjoying the flanging of his chuckles as their
collective laughter died down.
“What are you going to do? Stamp your name on my ass if a turian approaches
us?” She asked, rolling her eyes at the fact that he was even possessive to
begin with. Men.
“If you ever consider getting a tattoo done, my name surrounded by my markings
will suffice, baby,” he said. “Maybe you could get it done right above your
tight -”
She lightly flicked the sensitive node of nerves underneath his fringe in
reprimand. When that didn’t work, she instead poked the sensitive flesh of his
neck hard.
“Hey! I’m sensitive there!”
“Big boy, shut up.”
He snickered loudly.
“Have you had a threesome before?” She asked idly.
“A couple of times.”
Her question hadn’t been entirely serious, but still his nonchalant answer hit
her like a slap to the face. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen when they
happened.
“Turians… just what the fuck,” she mumbled.
“Language, baby,” he said, “but that’s how I feel about a lot of human things
too. Sex is a natural process and is part of healthy development for all
sapient beings. It’s not like we’re trying to get each other pregnant. I don’t
know why humans try and compartmentalize it so much for young people.”
She nodded absently and gave his fringe a slight tug.
“Baby?”
“Have you finished cumming yet?”
“A while ago actually,” he said, “you didn’t notice?”
“I’m filled up, big boy, I wouldn’t be able to tell.” Her sex was just heavy
with his seed at this point. “Are you still going to…”
She blushed at the idea of finishing her sentence. He simply smiled at her and
pulled back a tad. His knot remained tightly sealed within her, and he looked
down in inspection.
“Shouldn’t be long now,” he said, licking his mandibles in anticipation.
===============================================================================
When his knot began to shrink inside her, along with his shaft, he lifted her
legs up.
“I want you to see everything, baby” he said.
Then he began to pull his knot out with a low rumble. At first there was
nothing, and then it was maybe a second before it began to spill out. Globs of
purple semen covered his knot and his shaft as he slowly pulled it out, and
when he’d fully removed his receding cock, it began to trickle down her lips
and onto her thighs. Her entrance quivered arrhythmically as she found herself
involuntarily flexing to eject it from her. There was so much just spilling out
of her, and then his tongue began to lap at her entrance.
Her legs closed around his cowl once more as he began to ravenously feast upon
her.
When his head emerged minutes later, his mandibles seemed to be almost stained
with his cum.
“You are… you are unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head as he began to
clean his mandibles with his tongue. “I fell in love with a turian who defines
the word kinky.”
He shrugged unapologetically.
“I’ll give you a couple of months, Cassandra.”
“A couple of months for what?”
“For you to be just as bad as me, I guarantee it.”
She couldn’t help but believe him.
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lad.
Now I’m stuck with a buggering green boy who has never seen anything but
castles and noblemen.” He spat to express his disgust and brought his horse
closer to Julius before adding, “Until you’ve proven yourself useful, you’ll be
a fucking boy to me.”
Obviously less assured of himself, Julius nonetheless retorted, “But I am a
Lannister-”
“I don’t give a rat’s arse about what you are. Think that pretty crimson cloak
of yours will help us when we’re further down the road? We’ll only get trouble
for it; you should’ve chosen a plain one as the girl did.”
 “Award her no merit for that. Grey is her House’s colour!”
The Hound snorted. “Seems like the Starks could teach the Lannisters a few
things after all.” With that, he passed by the fuming young man and continued
on his way. Sansa immediately followed him, eager to flee from the wrath that
was oozing from Julius. Who would have predicted that I would one day rush to
Sandor Clegane to avoid someone else’s rage?she mused as she glanced back at
the blond young man behind her.
*** 
The light was getting dimmer by the minute and Sansa was beginning to be
apprehensive that they would have to sleep in the open when an inn finally came
into view. Without a word, the Hound rode in its direction, both Sansa and
Julius following in his path. They were greeted by a dirty and skinny stable
boy who directed them to the entry of the place while wordlessly taking the
reins of the horses.
The common room was full but the innkeeper nevertheless assured the Hound that
there were still enough rooms left for them.
“Want a bath, little bird? Can’t be certain of when we’ll come across an inn
again,” the Hound rasped flatly, while paying the old man behind the counter.
Only one day on the road had dirtied her as she would have never imagined
possible; Sansa couldn’t even guess how covered with filth she would end up
after weeks of travelling. “Yes, of course. Thank you, my lord,” she said
politely while lowering her gaze to her stained hands. 
“A bath to the girl’s room,” the Hound ordered while tossing an extra coin at
the innkeeper. 
Her eyelids were getting heavier by the second. Sansa could hardly keep them
open as she followed Sandor Clegane to her chamber. 
When they were in front of the door, the Hound grabbed her jaw and lifted her
head to make sure that she would look at him before saying, “Listen, girl. You
lock your door. I’ll stay outside and wait for your bath to arrive. Don’t open
to anyone but me, understood?” 
“Yes, my lord,” she murmured almost inaudibly.
He let go of her and opened the door; Sansa hurried inside. One day gone! One
day less until the end of my ordeal!she repeated to herself, tired as never
before in her life as she sat on her straw bed.
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
                                    Sandor
 They had been riding from dawn until twilight for the past four days, only
stopping to eat dry meat and hard cheese around midday and to take a piss once
in a while. The weather hadn’t been as bad as Sandor had predicted it would;
rain did come from time to time but never long enough to soak their cloaks and
since they had been lucky enough to come across inhabited villages every day
until then, they had always slept in inns, giving time for their wet clothes to
dry by the hearth during the night. Things would change today though. There was
apparently not a living soul in the woods that surrounded them and twilight was
approaching dangerously fast; the wisest thing to do would be to set up camp
while there was still enough light to see.
 In an instinctive movement, Sandor turned to glance discreetly at the little
bird though he couldn’t really see her with the hood of her cloak covering her
hair and face almost completely. Better this way; if I can’t see her, no one
else can. The girl is far too recognisable. Throughout the past few days,
Sandor had kept reminding her over and over again to keep her damned hood up at
all times.These weren’t really complicated instructions, but apparently the
girl didn’t appreciate the way that the piece of cloth acted like blinkers
forbidding her from admiring the landscape. What you see can see you too,
little bird. Neither the Lannisters nor the Starks were supposed to have spread
the word of this exchange, but a blue-eyed, red-haired maiden was sure to
attract unwanted attention and raise suspicion, especially if anyone took a
good look at her escort. Sandor was hard to miss and with his scars, even the
poxy peasants that vainly tried to plough the dry lands that they were to cross
would recognise him, especially in the Westerlands where his House was well
known and not always for good reasons. The old hooded cloak that he had brought
along did help to conceal his identity from afar but Sandor had no illusions;
their group was a suspicious one, especially with that bloody half-witted lad
that the Lannisters had thought to afflict him with. No matter if they were
from Casterly Rock or Lannisport, those damned cocky Lannisters seemed more
reckless than anyone else. Over the years, their power and wealth had won them
more foes than friends, but those bastards were mostly blind to that fact. More
chance of teaching courtesies to an ass than discretion to a Lannister, Sandor
mused while glaring at the boy beside him; the lad was garbed as elegantly as
if he meant to parade about in King’s Landing after a glorious battle. Sandor
snorted at his own thoughts before stopping Stranger. Both youngsters did the
same with their horses and turned questioning gazes on him.
 “We’ll sleep outside tonight. I hear a creek on our left, I’m sure we’ll find
a clearing somewhere along it,” he announced while eying their reactions with a
hint of amusement. The lad’s eyes were as wide as the little bird’s.The boy is
no braver than the girl, Sandor mused contemptuously. “Come, both of you,” he
ordered while nodding at them to follow before heading toward the edge of the
forest.
 From behind him, Sandor could hear the sound of hoofs on the soft ground. A
moment later, the grey shape of the little bird appeared in the corner of his
eye. On my heels again, just like the last few days.In King’s Landing, the girl
had always avoided Sandor as if he carried the plague, but now that they were
stuck on the road together with that bloody Lannister lad, the little bird
suddenly soughthis company. Better a dog than a cub, I reckon,Sandor concluded.
It wasn’t as if she truly enjoyed his presence; not many words had been uttered
by that pretty mouth of hers since they had left the capital apart from her
usual buggering courtesies, and her blue eyes were almost always lowered to
stare at her hands when she addressed him. The girl was still dead scared of
him, that was a given. I hope she realises the luck she has that I volunteered
for this mission,he mused with annoyance while spitting on the ground beside
him.Could’ve been Boros or Meryn with her instead, who knows? I didn’t give the
bastards a chance though and gave my name right away. I saved her once, twice
even, and now I’ll deliver her safely to her family. Isn’t that ‘gallant’
enough for you, little bird?His mouth twitched and he snorted at his own wry
thoughts while looking around him. They had reached a clearing that seemed good
enough to spend the night and so Sandor turned his horse around and gazed at
his charges. They were both standing still and staring wordlessly at him.
 “We’ll sleep here. Get off your horses,” he rasped in their direction as he
jumped from Stranger’s back. With some hesitation, the little bird tried to
slide from her mare’s saddle but with limited success. The girl would’ve landed
on her knees on her way down if not for Sandor, who grabbed her by the
shoulders just in time. So graceful and skilled at court but so clumsy in the
real world, Sandor reflected while hoarsely laughing. The girl’s face was
flushed as she timidly thanked him for his help but it was obvious that she
truly was eager to be free of his grip. The burned corner of Sandor’s mouth
twitched at her evident unease and he abruptly let her go before returning his
attention to his stallion, scowling as he removed the saddle from the animal’s
back. Following his lead, the Lannister boy did the same, freeing his own horse
from his heavy luggage. 
 “Once you have taken care of the girl’s mare, bring the beasts to the creek
and make sure they drink their fill,” Sandor grunted flatly at the lad without
even sparing him a glance.
 The boy silently did as he was bid but his discontent at being ordered around
by a dog was evident. With a smirk, Sandor tossed Stranger’s reins at him. The
lad carefully grabbed them; the horse had almost bitten off his face on their
second day on the road and the cub was now frightened of the dark beast,
although he tried his best not to show it. The creek was not too far but a
thick line of trees separated the clearing from the water and so Sandor was
soon alone with the little bird, who was gazing at her hands as usual, her
pretty face hidden under her woollen hood. 
 “Help me gather some dead wood, will you?” he rasped at her.
 The girl nodded and followed him into the woods.
 “Make sure the branches you choose are dry and fill your skirt with them,”
Sandor instructed her. She nodded again and squatted to search the wet ground
with her delicate white hands.
 The light was getting dimmer by the minute and the little bird was on his
heels once again, always staying a few feet from Sandor as if he was a bloody
torch that lit up the forest around him.
 After some time, he stood up with arms full of branches and lowered his gaze
to her. “Afraid of the dark, are you?” Sandor asked with a smirk on his lips.
 The girl’s face was shadowed by her hood but her eyes shone in the gloom as
she raised them to him. “No, not really. It’s just that I’m… not used in
spending time in the woods at night, that’s all.”
 “You’ve never been on the road in these conditions, have you? Wasn’t like that
when you came from Winterfell to King’s Landing with that horde of buggering
noblemen and retainers that followed us. No big tents and real bed to sleep in
this time around. I know you would’ve liked it better that way again, but
travelling heavy takes time and that’s not how I do things. Don’t you worry
though, little bird, soon you’ll be with your family and free to forget all
about it all.”
 The girl silently stared at him for a moment. “I was not complaining, my
lord,” she finally uttered.
 “I know what you think, girl. Don’t lie to me,” Sandor snapped, while taking a
step toward her.
 Obviously taken aback by his rough words, the little bird shrank away from him
and lowered her eyes to the ground. “I… I’ll be alright, my lord,” she
whispered after a few seconds.
 “I know you will. I’ll make sure of that,” Sandor answered, this time less
harshly.
 Apparently reassured by the change in his tone, the girl hesitantly glanced at
him for a short instant before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me you were to be
my escort?”
 “What do you mean?” he grunted, eyeing her.
 “When we met in the alcove…” the girl shyly muttered.
 Sandor snorted at her question and a smirk formed on his lips. “Why, you think
the king would’ve been pleased if you didn’t react as you did when you learned
the good news?” He barked a rough laugh before adding, “You knew already too
much. I was not about to spoil you even more; at least you’d be surprised by
that part of the announcement.”
 “Oh… I didn’t think about that,” the little bird said with a look of
understanding on her lovely face. “Thank you for that, my lord.”
 Sandor grunted at hearing her usual courtesies, his smirk instantly fading
away. “Come, we have enough wood to start a fire and the boy must be back by
now,” he rasped while lightly pushing the girl toward the camp.
 He was right; after a few minutes they got back to the site and the lad was
waiting for them, sitting on a log. Losing no time, Sandor immediately started
to work on a fire. The little bird stayed by his side, absently watching his
every move.
 “If you don’t know what to do with yourself, why don’t you set out our
bedrolls? You can do that, can’t you?” he flatly asked her.
 She nodded and went straight to where the saddles were settled under a tree,
carefully unfastening her bedroll from its strap.
 “We’ll sleep side by side with you in the middle, girl. Safer that way if
anyone comes around.” Sandor jerked his head toward the lad and added, “You’ll
keep your hands off her, boy. Understood? Or else I’ll chop your cock off and
believe me, I’m not jesting.”
 The cub nodded while glaring at Sandor. He would listen and that was all that
mattered. Once he was done with the fire, Sandor sat back on a log and stared
at the flames, lost in his thoughts. With lowered eyes, the Lannister lad
suddenly approached him and went to unfasten his armour as he had done every
night.
 “What are you doing, boy?” Sandor snapped while recoiling from him.
 “Helping you with your armour, ser,” the lad answered, obviously puzzled.
 “I’m keeping it on. Who knows what kind of bastards hide in these woods? A man
has to be ready for battle at all times when out in the open like this,” Sandor
sternly explained before adding in a snarl, “and don’t call me ‘ser’. I’ve told
you before, boy, I’m not one of them.”
 His pride manifestly wounded, the boy retorted, “What am I supposed to call
you then? I’m not about to call you my lord as our prisoner does.”
 Sandor’s scowl deepened. “The girl is no prisoner of yours. As far as I’m
concerned, you’re the same as her: a weight on my shoulders, a helpless child
that needs help getting back to his family. I’m no wet nurse though, so stop
whining and keep your fucking mouth shut.”
 The boy glowered at Sandor before taking off, going as far as he could from
him without leaving the clearing. Good.
 ****
 The group ate their meal of dry meat and rock-hard bread in an awkward
silence, the boy on the other side of the fire and the little bird sitting at
arm’s length from Sandor. The lad was just a cub, but he somehow frightened the
girl. His foul mood is what repels her from him and drives her to me,he
concluded, snorting at his own thoughts.No reason for me to treat him any
better then.
 The moon had risen and its gleam was illuminating the little bird’s perfect
profile. Sandor could not help but stare at her and admire her beauty, taking
in every detail of that pure face of hers. The girl was tense, palpably
uncomfortable with the way that he was shamelessly studying her. Does she sense
that I want her? Sandor wondered. No. She’s probably too naïve for that and
only believes me to be a creepy dog. Better this way, or else she’d be even
more scared of me.
 “Go to sleep now, both of you,” he growled before taking a long swig from his
wineskin. 
 From his log, Sandor watched as his charges got onto their bedrolls, the
little bird tiredly pulling her blankets over her lithe body. Her long braid
had escaped from her cloak and its copper hue was shining in the darkness.
Sandor looked at it for an instant before abruptly standing up and stamping out
the fire.
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Sansa
The rain had begun shortly after their morning departure and there had not been
one respite in the foul weather since then. Dusk was swiftly shrouding the sky,
covering the forest with its shadowy cloak as the barely-visible shape of the
sun disappeared behind the distant mountains before them. A bitter wind rose as
if to greet the nightfall, bringing Sansa's exhaustion and discomfort to a
whole new height. The draught penetrated her soaked and heavy clothes while
cold droplets trailed down her frozen face; she shivered, shutting her eyes in
a silent payer to the gods for a warm and dry shelter. The Hound, who knew the
area, had assured her and Julius that an inn was nearby and Sansa could only
hope that he was right. Is autumn always going to be so wet and chilly? she
wondered with dread. A summer child born in spring, Sansa had entered the
winter with curiosity but her initial inquiring feelings were now pervaded with
the anxiety of what was to come.
"Look," the Hound suddenly rasped, steam coming from his mouth, while raising a
steel-gloved hand to point a finger at what lay ahead.
Immediately, Sansa lifted her gaze and searched the horizon, squinting her eyes
in an attempt to protect them from the heavy rain. She sighed in relief when
she finally saw what she had prayed for only moments ago: barely visible, the
top of a high chimney was coming out from behind the edge of the forest, a
thick column of smoke filling the sky above it. With a whole new energy, the
group hurried their mounts toward that tempting promise of warmth, quickly
arriving in front of an old but neat-looking inn. A stable boy, alarmed by the
noise of their horses, briskly approached them and took charge of the beasts.
The inn was such an appealing sight after her ordeal that Sansa wanted nothing
more than to rush toward its door but a strong hand grasped her by the shoulder
and stopped her on her way. The young girl turned her head around to see the
dark shape of the Hound looming above her as his steely fingers picked up the
long braid that was hanging out of her hood.
"Hide it," he told her while pulling lightly at it.
Taking the plait from the Hound, Sansa felt herself blush under his insistent
stare as she hastily tucked it into her cloak.
"Are we going inside?" Julius exclaimed, while glaring at them before pushing
the door open and entering the inn.
The common room was dim but warm and strangely crowded given the emptiness of
the surroundings. Dirty-looking men were playing dice while drinking ale and
some of them turned curious eyes on Sansa and her escort when they heard the
sound of the opening door.
Without sparing them a glance, the Hound went straight to the old man who
appeared to be the innkeeper and laid a heavy hand on the counter before him.
"Still have places?" he asked.
The old man eyed him for a moment; from that close, he was certainly able to
make out Sandor Clegane's scarred features from under his hood. "We do," the
innkeeper finally answered. "How many rooms will you require?"
"Two. We'll need warm meals also, but bring some hot water to each room first;
the children are going to bathe," the Hound rasped, while turning mocking eyes
on his charges, obviously waiting for a reaction on Julius' part. He wasn't
disappointed; the young man was fuming with evident rage but nonetheless stayed
silent.
Once in her room, Sansa took off her cloak. It was so soaked that she had to
wring it out over the chamber pot a couple of times before she could hang it in
front of the fireplace. Her dress wasn't in a much better state. Even her shift
and underclothes weren't completely dry but she nevertheless decided to stay in
them until the hot water arrived.
"Your bath, girl," she heard Sandor Clegane's rough voice announce from the
corridor.
Hurriedly, she grasped her cloak and reluctantly covered herself with it again
before opening the lock. Two boys carrying a big and heavy cauldron entered and
filled the bathtub with its steaming contents. Another boy followed with a
bucket of cold water in each hand and added them to the mix. The boys all went
out of the room without a word and Sansa was about to close the door behind
them when the Hound's hand stopped it from closing, leaving it ajar.
Droplets of water were still running down his face, cloak and armour. "I'll
come to pick you up for the meal once we're all dried up and clean. Until then,
bolt your door, as always," he instructed her.
"I will, my lord," Sansa answered politely.
He only grunted and went away.
****
The bath was a real blessing from the heavens and Sansa felt like a new maiden
when she came out of its warm water and slid into a dry gown. Sitting on the
straw bed, she was finishing brushing her long hair when someone knocked on the
door.
"Little bird?" Sansa heard the Hound rasp from behind it.
Finally, she thought hungrily while jumping from the bed and heading for the
door to open its lock. Once it was done, the Hound abruptly entered and fixed
his attention upon her. He too had changed garments: he now wore dark leather
breeches and a studded leather jerkin with a large hooded tunic above it. The
hood of the tunic was deep and concealed Sandor Clegane's upper face almost
perfectly but only a blind man wouldn't notice his burned jaw and that terrible
bone that Sansa had once been so appalled by. His long black hair was still wet
and lank locks of it were coming out of his hood, dripping on the roughspun
fabric of his tunic. After an instant of staring, the Hound closed the door
behind him. Sansa sighed; it wasn't fitting for a maiden to be alone in a room
with a man that wasn't kin of hers, but she knew that if she voiced her unease,
Sandor Clegane would probably only laugh at her. The Hound doesn't care about
those kinds of precepts. Maybe I shouldn't either, nothing improper will happen
and I know it, but it's hard to change from what you have been bred to be.
"The place is packed," he said after a few seconds, "might be better if you
stayed in here. I'll bring you some food-"
Sansa bit her lip in disappointment; despite all the prejudice that she once
had, she had liked the atmosphere of the common rooms in which they had eaten
during the past few days. Although the Hound could be grumpy company, she
preferred the prospect of being at his side downstairs than the one of spending
the evening in her room by herself with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling.
"No, please! I want to come with you!" she exclaimed without thinking, only
realising afterward how unladylike she had sounded.
The Hound laughed at her reaction. "Fine then. At your command, Lady Stark, but
braid those locks and put a scarf on. Go on! No time to lose, I'm thirsty!"
Leaning on the stone wall, he watched as Sansa headed for the mirror and did as
she was bid. A deep blush was creeping over her pale skin as she tied a ribbon
around her long plait, trying all she could not to glance at the reflection of
the Hound as the man brazenly studied her from where he stood. When she was
done, having covered her hair with a large dark scarf, they both went out of
the room and headed down the stairs.
Once in the common room, the Hound led Sansa to the most remote table he could
find and sat her on a bench between the wall and himself.
"Where's the damned boy?" he rasped while impatiently looking around the room.
Sansa raised her gaze and instantly saw him. "There," she said, as she nodded
toward him.
On the other side of the room, Julius was sitting with a group of men, a
tankard of ale in his hand. Draped in his usual crimson clothes, he was
laughing and appeared relaxed as he exchanged words with his neighbours. The
Hound frowned when he saw him and was about to stand when Sansa touched his arm
to stop him.
"No, leave him, please," she boldly pleaded. Sandor Clegane stopped and laid
prying eyes on her. Suddenly cowed by his intense stare, Sansa lowered her gaze
before shyly explaining herself. "Maybe if he enjoys himself tonight, he'll be
in a better mood tomorrow."
Relaxing, the Hound smirked and asked, "Why would you care about that, little
bird? The boy doesn't give a rat's arse about your frame of mind, so why should
you worry about his?"
She explained herself in a soft whisper. "Maybe if he's in a better mood, he
won't pick on me so much…he looks at me with so much hate sometimes, it makes
me uneasy."
"You can't be loved by everyone, girl. Best you learn to live with that," he
muttered gravely while leaning further back on the bench and stretching his
long legs under the table before snapping his finger to draw the attention of a
serving woman. "A jug of wine for myself and cider for the girl. And bring us
our meals, wench," he barked in her direction.
The woman nodded and went on her way. Discreetly, Sansa glanced at the Hound
and saw that he had apparently forgotten about Julius. She allowed herself a
slight smile: although he would never admit it, Sandor Clegane had given way to
her. It was good to finally see her wishes considered by someone after a year
of feeling like a ghost in the capital. The Hound was a strange beast but he
wasn't as feral as some people would have others believe, starting with
himself.
Taking her out of her musings, the serving woman returned with their drinks and
settled them on the table, leaving room for the boy who had followed her to put
down two bowls of steaming stew. Sansa was starving and therefore she lost no
time in inhaling a spoonful of stew while the Hound poured himself a full glass
of wine. He emptied its contents in one deep gulp before following her lead,
finishing his stew well before she did.
Licking his spoon, the Hound grunted while glaring at Julius, "Look at him! All
puffed up and proud. The perfect Lannister, I'd say." He snorted at his own
comment.
Sansa raised her gaze from her almost-empty bowl to glance at Julius. He did
look puffed up and proud and so she grinned at the Hound's remark.
Suddenly serious, Sandor Clegane turned his grey eyes on hers. "Might be a good
idea to drag him back to his room before he drinks too much and spills all of
our little secrets to those thugs he's with." He tossed his spoon on the table
and stood up. "Come."
With a mouth still full with her last spoonful of stew, Sansa nodded and
followed him.
His back to the room, Julius was comfortably leaning back in his chair and had
no clue that the Hound was coming for him. This is not going to be
pretty, Sansa predicted as she took a few steps back toward the stairs.
"Time to sleep, boy. Come," the Hound rasped, while seizing Julius by the upper
arm.
The young man turned around, an offended expression deforming his face as he
squirmed to free himself from the bigger man's grip. "Get away! I don't need
you to watch over me! I'll go to sleep when I feel tired."
"Who says that?" the Hound grunted, unimpressed.
"Me!" Julius answered before sighing in exasperation. "In fact, you won't even
need to worry about me anymore; I'll be travelling with my friends here from
now on," the young man announced while nodding toward his new companions.
A small but brawny man with a brown beard that sat at the other side of the
table from Julius acquiesced. "We folks are heading toward Lannisport; we'll
share the road with the young man," he said calmly.
Pausing to gauge the unknown man, the Hound appeared to consider his offer for
a short instant, but then rolled his eyes in resignation and told Julius, "No
matter how much I'd like to be bloody rid of you, I can't leave you in the
hands of those thugs. Now you come, boy." In a quick movement, Sandor Clegane
reached for Julius' arm but the latter recoiled from him just in time.
"Leave me be, Hound! I don't want anything to do with you anymore!" the young
man yelled, moving backward.
A hush suddenly fell on the group of men as they exchanged looks with each
another.
The bearded man was the first to break the silence. "So my suspicions were
right: you are the Hound. What brings you so far from your den?" he asked, his
gaze moving from the Hound to where Sansa was standing, closer to the stairs,
"-and who's this one? Another little Lannister?" The man advanced, his grin
showing off crooked yellowish teeth.
I'm not a Lannister! I hate them! Sansa thought furiously, her hands clenched
in tight fists as she felt the stares of the men creeping over her in the most
unpleasant manner.
"It's none of your bloody business who the girl is," the Hound spat at the man,
before turning around and grabbing Julius' arm. "No fucking grumbling this
time!" he ordered, while dragging the red-faced young man along.
As the Hound was nearing the stairs, a dirty blond-haired man stood up to
rejoin Sansa before him. "Who could you be, lass?" he said in a soft voice,
while gazing at her a bit too intensely. "A real beauty to be sure," he added
as she wordlessly flinched away from him.
Intervening between them, the Hound snarled at the man while shoving him with
his free hand. "Unless you seek trouble, I advise you to keep your distance
from the girl, you hear me?"
"Calm down, I was only talking to her! There's no reason for you to react like
this, I'm only curious to know who she is. We don't see pretty maidens such as
her often in these surroundings, as you probably can imagine," the man
explained, while scowling at the Hound.
"Keep wondering then," the Hound growled while pushing Sansa up the stairs with
one hand and dragging Julius with the other.
Once upstairs, the Hound opened the door of his and Julius' shared room and
violently thrust the young man inside of it. "You'll stay in there for the rest
of the night, you buggering halfwit! You might have gotten us in trouble with
that fucking big mouth of yours," he snarled, his voice as rough as steel on
stone. Shutting the door, the big man turned his attention on Sansa. "The
stupid lad!" he said, more calmly. "The boy has attracted a bit too much
attention to us." The Hound paused and studied Sansa for a moment. "I didn't
like how those bastards looked at you," he grumbled, almost to himself while
eyeing her, an angry gleam shining in his dark eyes. "I'll sleep in the
passageway, in front of your door. We'll see if the boors try anything then."
Sansa's eyes widened. In front of my door? she thought, before realising that
since they had already slept side by side just a few nights before while in the
woods, there was really no reason for her to be shocked by something so
innocent.
"Bolt your door; I'm going downstairs to see if anyone has stolen my jug of
wine. I shouldn't take long," he rasped while opening the door of Sansa's room
for her.
Has Julius indeed got us into trouble? Sansa wondered, while taking off her
scarf and gown. His companions had undeniably appeared to be interested by her
but who knew if they weren't only curious, as they had claimed to be? Mayhap
the Hound is a little too leery after all, she concluded while laying her tired
body on the straw bed.
As she closed her eyes, Sansa heard the sound of someone crouching against her
door. The Hound, she deducted as she heard him grunt and yawn while he noisily
leaned against the old wooden door, which complained in strident creaks. Her
eyes now wide open, Sansa turned around in her bed to look in the direction of
the noises; Sandor Clegane's large shape was blocking most of the light from
passing through the slight crack under the door. After a few seconds, Sansa
heard a liquid sound and then a long and thirsty gulp.
"It was still there?" she asked just loudly enough for him to hear.
"Uh?" the Hound grunted, apparently puzzled.
"Your wine!" she continued, a smile on her lips.
Barking a rough laugh, the man answered, "Aye, and I took your cider too; no
waste."
Sansa giggled softly at that. "Good night."
"'Night."
****
On that particular morning, the Goldroad was deserted but beautiful. Thankfully
unlike the day before, the sun was finally showing itself and the yellowish
earth of the lane was sparking under the bright light, giving it a pretty
golden hue. Julius' hair was also shining like beaten gold under the sunbeam
but nothing else gleamed about the young man on that day. His mood was as foul
as ever and his skin was pale and sickly like that of a dying man.
"Wine is not for everyone," Sandor Clegane had whispered to Sansa while they
were at the stables, a few hours before. "See how green the boy is?" he had
added with a wicked grin, his voice a low and hoarse rasp as he effortlessly
lifted her into her saddle.
Julius did look greenish, there was no denying it. The Hound, who had probably
drunk three times as much and slept against a wooden door, looked dashing in
comparison to the young man. Although, Sansa was conscious that not many men
could compare to Sandor Clegane where wine and endurance were implied. Julius
simply wasn't of the same calibre. Throughout the preceding week, the Hound's
constant presence by her side had confirmed Sansa's previous suspicions: the
man was seemingly indefatigable. Nothing seemed to bother him when it came to
travelling. It didn't matter if it rained, blew a gale or if the sun was
burning hot; Sandor Clegane had never yet lost even a hint of his strength and
speed. As much as Sansa had initially been reluctant to be escorted
by Joffrey's dog, she had to admit now that she was beginning to get accustomed
to his rude manners, that they weren't many men with whom she would feel as
secure in a precarious situation such as theirs. Very rare were those who could
claim not to be intimidated by the Hound, especially at first sight. Most
people that they had come acrosswereapprehensive, even frightened to approach
such an imposing figure. Just as I was… and still am to some extent, she
admitted to herself. I should be thankful for his fearsome appearance and rough
ways; as much as I used to dread him for those reasons, it's also because of
them that we have been left alone until now. My current relative safety is due
to everything that I once hated about him.
As Sansa was silently assimilating these new realisations, the Hound abruptly
halted his mount and raised a hand to urge her and Julius to do the same.
Intrigued, she raised her gaze and saw what had drawn the Hound's attention.
Approximately twenty feet from them, a slight opening in the forest led to a
small and dilapidated house. Standing still, Sandor Clegane stared at the
setting from afar for a long moment.
Breaking the silence, Julius grumbled, "What are we waiting for? This is just
an old house. We have seen hundreds before."
"Not just any house, you damned fool. This one has been attacked. See how it's
been broken down, even partly burned? Might be that war has travelled south and
reached our path... or that there are bandits in the area. Anyhow, we'd best go
check it out and see if we can learn anything," the Hound flatly explained,
while kicking his stallion with his heels and slowly approaching the abandoned
house. "Come."
Both Julius and Sansa did as they were bid, a palpable dread building between
them as they began to grasp the scene in its entirety. Oh, this is
horrible, Sansa thought, her eyes widening in shock. Everywhere she looked, the
ground was covered with small pieces of rotten or burned wood mixed with broken
household items in an ugly mess that carried a sickening memory of violence.
Sansa felt her stomach clench painfully as she turned her tearful eyes on the
remnants of the house and gazed at its high skeleton, rising eerily toward the
sky like a cold, dark spectre, standing alone in the woods. People lived here,
but every detail of their lives has been destroyed with no consideration. No
trace has been left of whatever happiness they might once have had. Tears went
rolling down her cheeks as Sansa's thoughts wandered to her own distant and
broken home. Has the same horrible fate befallen Winterfell? War was an ugly
thing, Sansa realised not for the first time as she began to sob in silence.
A gruff voice that came from the other side of the house took her out of her
sad introspection. "You see that?" The Hound had left his mount at the edge of
the forest to explore the site on foot and he was pointing at a heap of faded
embers and ashes over which the remainder of smoke floated lazily. "People have
been here recently," he rasped. "Let's get away from here."
As Sansa was about to nod her agreement, a muffled but undeniable cry for help
resounded further into the forest. Gasping, the young girl turned wide eyes on
the Hound who was staring in the sound's direction, his mouth twitching.
After a moment, he strode toward his stallion while glancing at Sansa and
Julius in turn. "You heard me? We're going!" the Hound hurried them with
annoyance.
Julius was getting ready to go but Sansa herself just couldn't move; her body
was frozen in place. "We can't!" she almost immediately exclaimed. "We need to
do something!"
The Hound snorted while raising his gaze on her. "You mean I need to do
something, don't you? Tell me, little bird, why should I risk my life for some
unknown bugger? He's not the only one suffering in this bloody war, you can be
certain about that, and I can't save everyone."
Swallowing, Sansa nevertheless boldly kept her eyes on the Hound's. "You can
save this one though," she retorted.
The big man stared at her for a long moment of silence, his expression more
unreadable than ever, before a smirk appeared on his lips. "Aye, I can," he
admitted with a harsh and short laugh, while patting his mount's side. "I'll go
without Stranger. Less likely that I get caught by some bastards while I scout
the forest this way. Meanwhile, you both stay quietly here with him, you hear
me?" Julius nodded stiffly while the Hound approached Sansa and raised his eyes
to her once again. "I warn you though; I might do nothing if I judge it foolish
to do otherwise."
Sighing with relief, Sansa nodded while biting her lip. His usual scowl
returning on his face, the Hound unsheathed his long sword and turned around
before disappearing into the thick woods. Father, Bran, Rickon... they're all
dead now, but the war won't consume everyone, some people can still be saved.
"You're stupid. We're losing time because of you. I really don't understand why
the Hound cares to please you so much..." Julius spat while glaring at Sansa
before heading his horse toward the road.
"Where are you going?We're supposed to wait here until the Hound comes back!"
"I don't care. I'm not staying in this stinking place any moment longer," the
young man said, his voice filled with contempt.
Dumbstruck, Sansa followed Julius with her eyes as he moved away from her. I
can't let him leave like this, she decided, kicking her mare to catch up with
him. "Wait! You can't go!"
The young man had turned on the lane and was already out of her sight,
concealed by the trees that separated the abandoned house from the Goldroad.
Panting, Sansa brought her mount to a trot to close the gap between them, which
she did in a matter of seconds.
As she passed the edge of the woods and turned onto the road, Sansa cried out,
"Julius! You can't-" but her voice was unexpectedly caught in her throat by the
spectacle that was waiting for her.
A group of men was surrounding Julius and one of them had a sword pressed under
the young man's jaw. As they heard her arrive, they all turned their heads to
gaze at her.
"We were hoping that you would join us, lass. Come," a bearded man told Sansa
before heading his mount toward her.
I remember this man. It's one of Julius' companions from last night… Looking
anxiously around her, Sansa realised that she recognised each man from the
previous evening. What do they want from us?
"No one wants to hurt you, lass, but for that, stay quiet and do as we ask.
Don't scream or try to run from us or else, we'll kill the boy. Understand?" he
said as he approached her.
Sansa jerked her head around to see if the Hound was coming back. Where is
he?! she wondered while nervously moving back from her attacker.
"I'm serious, lass! Do you want your friend's life on you conscience?!" the man
said in a louder, more menacing tone.
He's not my friend! I hate him! Sansa though angrily, but still, she couldn't
let those men murder Julius, she didn't want to be the cause of anyone's death,
and so she froze in place, petrified by the horror of what was happening.
"You're a good girl," the man said almost softly while snatching her reins from
her hands. "Now remember, not a sound or we kill the boy," he added as he
hurried both horses along the road, quickly followed by the rest of his group.
Julius had been tied up on his saddle and the man with the sword was riding by
his side, keeping an eye on his captive. Sansa gazed at the once so-cocky young
man: he was trembling and his face was wet with tears. She felt her own tears
starting to roll down her cheeks as she glanced behind her and saw nothing but
the golden hue of the road as it shone in the afternoon sun.
***** Chapter 5 *****
 
Sansa
For about half an hour, the thugs had led Sansa and Julius at the fastest pace
that they could manage deep into the forest, without exchanging so much as a
word with their captives and only a few with one another. During one of those
sparse dialogues, Sansa had nonetheless overheard one of the bandits calling
the bearded man Robert. Like the old king, she had observed, although apart
from the name and the dark beard, the man didn't share much with Joffrey's late
father, with his small build and tattered clothes. Yet, Robert was no exception
among his group: his companions' demeanours and garments stank of poverty and
even the old beasts that carried them had obviously known better days, but what
else could be expected from poor wanderers like them?
"What do you want from us?" Sansa suddenly asked as the urge of at least
knowing her fate – whatever it might be – was becoming unbearable.
Turning his gaze on her, Robert slowed his mount. "Calm down, lass. As we told
you, no one will hurt you. Only, we have need of the gold we can get if we
ransom the both of you."
"Ransom? But who will you ransom us to?" Sansa worriedly asked as dread that
she would be brought back to the Lannisters overtook her.
Grinning, the man replied, "Well, although the Lannisters of Lannisport aren't
as rich as their cousins of Casterly Rock, they're still richer than the likes
of us and we'll find good use for their gold. As for you, lass, I'm sure that
the sister of the Young Wolf must be worth her weight in gold-"
Gasping immediately as she heard Robert's assumptions, Sansa turned wide eyes
on him. "How... how do you know?"
The man laughed at her reaction before explaining himself with blatant
amusement. "We suspected it from the beginning. Tell me, why would King Joffrey
send his favourite guard to wander the Westerlands only to deliver a lesser
cousin home? Since the boy is clearly not worth the trouble, we figured that
you were the one that the Hound truly looked after. Deducing the rest afterward
wasn't too hard: the young king has a new betrothed - thus he has put Sansa
Stark aside - and since the Kingslayer is still hostage to the Northerners,
it's only natural that an exchange would occur to retrieve His Grace's uncle."
Eyeing Sansa, Robert grinned, clearly pleased with the turn of events. "You'd
like to know though, what really tipped us off?"
Sansa stayed silent but gazed at him intently.
"That devoted Hound of yours pretty much confirmed our suspicions when he chose
to sleep against your door last night. Only a man guarding a treasure would
sacrifice a real bed to bunk down in a spartan corridor..." His expression now
softer, Robert smiled at Sansa. "You don't have to worry though. We have every
intention of delivering you to your family and no one will touch you in any
improper way. You're as safe with us as you were with the Hound and very soon,
you'll be with your brother. We heard that he was in Riverrun, so that's where
were heading."
"That's not where the exchange was supposed to take place -"
"Where it was supposed to take place doesn't matter much to us: we're not
interested in exchanging you for Ser Jaime Lannister! No, as I told you, we
want gold. We're poor folk here; those precious dragons will help us feed our
people while you nobles bleed us smallfolk to death with your damned war. Of
course, I know that you and the boy here are too young to be blamed for it and
so, I apologize for this situation. Try to see it as repaying some of the
horrible injustices that we commoners have been put through by your kind."
"Oh, I see... and you think that there will be more gold in Riverrun, my lord?
That's why were heading there?" Sansa asked flatly.
"That's what we're hoping." Robert paused a moment before adding with a gentle
smile, "By the way, no need to give lords or sers to any of us, lass. We're
only a bunch of smallfolk; none of us have titles. No, call me Robert, if you
want."
Sansa nodded but quickly looked elsewhere. Well, they certainly don't seem as
bad as I first thought they were. They'll bring me back to my family. Naught
has changed, really... so why do I feel so uneasy? Being dragged into the woods
by force certainly hadn't helped to put her at ease but her situation was for
the most part totally unchanged. A pawn is only valued by what it can be traded
with, that's all I am… sometimes I feel like that's all I'll ever be. Only,
there was no denying that although she had been Sandor Clegane's prisoner, the
man had nonetheless slowly gained her trust throughout their travels and even
managed to bring her a measure of security that she was now starting to
miss. The Hound. Where is he? What is he doing?
Suddenly curious, Sansa jerked her head toward Robert. "How did you know that
the Hound wouldn't be with us?"
"We weren't certain but one of us went into the woods to create a diversion.
Apparently it worked."
The muffled scream... Sansa realised with guilt. So this is my fault, after
all. The Hound would never have left us if not for me. Is he looking for us
right now? she wondered while glancing furtively around her.
****
"It's getting late, let's set up camp!" Robert yelled to his companions.
A man with dirty blond hair, whom Sansa remembered from the night before jumped
off his horse and approached her. "Need help off your saddle, my lady?" he
asked, a little too politely to strike her as truly genuine.
Hesitant and nervous, Sansa nevertheless nodded. Grinning at her shy response,
the man hastily circled her waist with his hands and brought her down a little
too slowly for Sansa's taste. "Thank you," she said afterward, her voice
trembling slightly while she took a step back away from him.
"You're very welcome," the man muttered softly as he closed in on her.
"Stuart! Leave the girl be. I don't want her to regret leaving the Hound's
company," Robert snapped, plainly annoyed by the man, who nodded and walked
away still gazing at Sansa.
"I'm sorry, lass. That one doesn't always know how to behave. He's no danger to
you, though."
Sighing, Sansa gave Robert a tight smile before turning to her mare and
reaching for its saddle, but the man gently pushed her aside and untied it for
her.
"Thank you... Robert," she whispered, while grasping the satchel and bedroll
that he handed her.
An old man with long grey hair was working on a fire not far from where she
stood while Robert and the man that he had called Stuart were setting the
bedrolls on the wet ground.Where are the others? Sansa wondered distractedly.
Julius was still tied up, although now lying on the ground. The young man was
shaking like a leaf, his face wet with tears. Absorbed by the pathetic sight,
Sansa stared at him for a long moment. I don't pity him, she realised, appalled
by her own mercilessness. He used to mock me and play the man but now he's less
than a boy.
"Sit down, lass. You need rest. Another long day awaits us tomorrow," Robert
told her, pointing at an empty spot beside him.
There was no denying that she did feel tired and so Sansa obeyed, laying her
bedroll between Robert and Julius. As she sat down, two filthy young men
arrived with a few hares in their arms.
"The gods are truly smiling on us! First we came upon those two
noble pricks and now, see what we have found in the snares!" one of the young
men joyfully announced as he tossed the game near the fire.
Robert laid reproachful eyes on him. "Careful how you address our guests,
Ulmer."
Grunting, the young man scowled as he began to skin the hares with the help of
his companion.
Sansa hadn't eaten since dawn and thus when the animals were cooked at last,
she had to use all of her self-control to not devour her meal in a heartbeat.
As she was chewing on a chunk of the tender and delicious flesh, she realised
with some guilt that Julius was unable to eat anything, tied up as he was and
that he was probably starving.
"Aren't you going to unbind him? I'm sure he's hungry," Sansa murmured to
Robert while gazing at her greasy hands.
"I'll feed him when I'm done with my own meal," the man muttered with his mouth
full of meat.
"Why haven't you untied him? I don't think that he'd try to escape. He wanted
to go with you instead of the Hound anyway."
The man jerked his head to glance at Sansa. "Yes, but that was before we
abducted him. He probably doesn't like us as much anymore and besides, the lad
might look inoffensive but he has most likely been trained in the art of
fighting and so it's better not to take any risk at all." Smirking, Robert
added in a low, satisfied tone as he gazed into the fire, "Moreover, I'd lie if
I told you that I didn't take pleasure in this. You see, we Westerlands
smallfolk have no love for Lannisters."
"Really?" Sansa exclaimed with shock as she turned wide eyes on Robert.
Grinning at her confusion, the man answered, "Yes, my lady. Commoners don't
always love their liege lords. Respect and devotion don't come automatically;
they have to be cultivated, same as the land." Snorting, Robert mused almost to
himself, "Yes, the land. Ours isn't very fertile. Rocks, that's all there is
around here, although some of those stones are more precious than others." His
smile fading away, the man turned his gaze on Sansa again. "We Westerlanders
are highly dependant on the gold mines for our sustenance, all of us here used
to work in one. Only, now that this damned war is bleeding the kingdoms and
food is no longer freely available, what's the use of the stags and dragons we
made with our work? The Riverlanders have provided us with wheat and vegetables
for as long as we can remember, but those days are gone: only halfwits would
supply their enemies with victuals. Furthermore, if the rumours are true, most
of their crops have been burned down by the very honourable Ser Gregor
Clegane. Still, some traders are brave enough to come into our villages and
towns, but they sell their goods at impossible prices. We can't pay."
Glancing down at the remains of the hare's thigh that she was eating, Sansa
felt a sudden pang of culpability. "I'm so sorry, Robert. This is so sad…"
"Yes, it is, lass. Our children and wives are getting skinnier by the day and
the only thing we're left to do is to watch them disappear in front of our
eyes." A hush fell between them for a few minutes while the rest of the group
kept on laughing and talking loudly, oblivious to the gravity of their
neighbours' discussion. After a moment, Robert sighed and carried on. "All of
our misfortune began when our dear liege lord, Tywin Lannister, decided to let
his most rabid dog loose in the Riverlands." Laughing wryly, the man added,
"His grandson did the rest when he chopped your father's head off…"
"Please, don't talk about that," Sansa whispered in irritation while staring at
her hands.
"Sorry, lass. You get my point though. Lannisters have done nothing but wrong
us of late. As for your family, we don't know much about them but heard that
they were loved in the North and Riverlands. Still, we need the gold we can get
for you."
"I understand now."
Giving her a small grateful smile as he wiped his greasy hands on his tattered
tunic, Robert stood up with a grunt. "Dusk is at our door. You have any…
business in the forest before it's too dark?"
Sansa blushed at the implication but she did need to make water and so she rose
and followed him through the edge of the woods. They walked for some time until
they were isolated enough for Sansa to be certain that none of the men could
get even the slightest glimpse of her.
All flushed, Sansa shut her eyes in shame. "Please, could you…?"
"Of course," Robert hurriedly replied, an embarrassed smile on his lips while
moving away from her.
As he turned his back on her, Sansa uttered a resigned sigh. Robert wasn't far
enough for her to be completely at ease but her bladder badly needed to be
relieved and she was too weary to complain anyway. Turning around, she crouched
and did what she had to, but as she stood up afterward and smoothed her skirts,
she heard a strange throaty sound from behind her. Her eyes widened and she
froze for a short instant before she turned around in one quick movement and
gaped at what she saw. A few feet away from her, Robert was now facing her and
wore an expression of utter shock and fear. His eyes were big and white and
Sansa could read in them that the man had no clue about what had just
transpired. A huge hand was covering his mouth and the point of a long sword
was coming out from his chest, blood slowly dripping from it. Behind him, the
dark and imposing shape of a man was standing still, as if waiting for his
victim to die. An instant later, Sansa saw life vanish from Robert's eyes. The
man behind him then withdrew his sword from the dead man's chest and let him
fall heavily to the ground. Raising her gaze to the attacker, Sansa realised
with some relief but no real surprise that it was none other than the Hound.
The tall man wordlessly looked at her for a few seconds, a scowl on his face as
usual, before he crouched and wiped his sword on Robert's tunic.
"Are you going to stay frozen in place all night or what? Come!" the Hound
rasped impatiently with his familiar rough voice, as he rose and sheathed his
long sword on his hip.
"You… you didn't have to kill him. He didn't deserve it," Sansa managed to
articulate, her voice trembling, still shaken by what she had just witnessed.
Sandor Clegane's mouth twitched. "You're quick making friends. That damned
bugger kidnapped you, remember?" he spat, while giving a small kick to the body
to punctuate his words before urgently striding toward Sansa.
Taken aback by the Hound's rash actions and demeanour, Sansa unconsciously took
a step away from him.
As he noticed her gesture, the man stopped abruptly in his way and snorted with
contempt. "Now what? You want to stay with those bloody poxy thugs, is that it?
I'll leave you with them, if that's what you want," he said in a tone that
truly implied the opposite.
"No! I don't want to stay with them!" Sansa cried out in panic as she hastily
ran toward him. "Please, take me with you!"
Grunting, the Hound grabbed her by the upper arm and began dragging her through
the forest at such a fast pace that she almost fell over a couple of times.
After her second stumble, he bent and slung her over his shoulder before
continuing on his way through the woods. After what seemed like an eternity to
Sansa, the Hound finally set her down on the forest floor. Stranger was just
behind her and without warning, Sandor Clegane circled her waist with his
strong hands and settled her on the horse's back before he jumped up behind
her.
As the beast began moving, Sansa gasped in dread. "Wait! What about Julius?"
"What about him?" the Hound flatly rasped with obvious disinterest.
Jerking her head up to gaze at him, Sansa added in puzzlement, "He's still with
the others!"
Sandor Clegane laughed harshly at her concern. "Why should I care? That little
piece of shit has always been a fucking pain in my arse and nothing more."
"But he's your charge-" Sansa retorted in disbelief.
"Bugger that."
Lowering her gaze towards Stranger's mane, Sansa asked in a whisper, "Why come
for me then? I'm your charge too."
The man growled some incomprehensible words, his previous mirth nowhere to be
seen.
"We were both your charges!" Sansa boldly insisted, an unknown and desperate
force giving her a courage that she didn't know she had.
"Will you shut that bloody mouth of yours, little bird, or would you prefer
that I dropped you right here in the forest?" the man snarled, his voice as
rough as steel scraping against steel.
The rudeness of the Hound's words did their work for Sansa didn't pronounce a
single syllable for the rest of the ride, entering a numb state from which she
didn't see much of her surroundings though the remainder of their flight. At
some point, she did notice that they went across the Goldroad once again, but
they were shortly back into the depths of the woods. It was pitch dark when
they finally halted. Once the Hound had helped her from the saddle, Sansa sat
on a dead tree. She felt as if she had just woken from a trance and was slowly
regaining her conscience. Sandor Clegane appeared a little calmer and so Sansa
decided to enquire one last time about Julius, if only to alleviate her guilt
of abandoning him.
"Are we really going to leave Julius with those men?" she asked him with a soft
voice, afraid that she would upset him once again.
Turning from his mount, the Hound gazed down at Sansa, his dark eyes boring
into hers. "Aye, I already told you. I have no intention of risking my life to
save that damned boy. Anyway, it didn't seem so bad being with those thugs,
judging by your reaction when I thrust my sword through that bastard's heart."
Sansa frowned at his words. "Robert was a good man. He didn't deserve to be
killed like that."
"Robert, was it?" Sandor Clegane snorted with annoyance. "If I'd known you
liked him so much, I might not have wasted my time stalking after you." He
paused to stare at her reproachfully before continuing. "They were going to
exchange both of you for gold, I'd wager?"
"Yes," Sansa said with a small nod.
"Then you can stop worrying about Julius. The boy will be in Lannisport soon
enough," the Hound explained, scorn filling his tone as he glared down at her.
Coming suddenly back to her, a memory brought a pang of sadness into Sansa's
heart. "Robert told me that they were going to use the gold to feed their
families-"
The Hound grunted at that. "Really? How nice of them," he rasped in a mocking
tone before continuing, anger back in his hoarse voice as he approached Sansa.
"Still, whatever the motivation, if you abduct highborn maidens, you're a
bandit and you risk being cut into pieces by men like me. You think I'll pity a
fucking thug who played a little trick on me before stealing my charge while my
back was turned? I'm not a good man to provoke, little bird: I kill those who
mess with me. Those peasants were overly and stupidly confident to believe that
they could fool me and get away with it that easily."
"They did partly get away with it… you only have me and they still have
Julius," Sansa retorted without thinking but realising as soon as she had
closed her lips that she had uttered an insult.
Rage oozing from him, the Hound snorted and replied, "Julius! I don't care
about him-" A strange gleam suddenly passed through the man's stormy eyes and
he stopped mid-sentence, but only for a short instant before his face twisted
into a deep scowl. His voice was low but menacing when he spoke again. "I never
chose to have him as a charge and thus don't feel offended by them keeping him.
In fact, I even feel liberated if you want to know, that's why I'm leaving him
with them and taking you with me. Now, enough talk for the night. Time to
sleep."
Sansa was tense as she watched Sandor Clegane hastily untying his bedroll from
Stranger's saddle before almost throwing it on the ground beside her. His anger
was so evident that she had to use all of her remaining courage to address him
further. "You… Where will you sleep?" she almost whispered.
"Against that tree," he said in a harsh tone while pointing at an oak next to
where Sansa was sitting. "Now, you sleep. You hear me?"
"Yes, my lord," Sansa answered nervously as she hurriedly unrolled the Hound's
bedroll and immediately laid over it.
Sandor Clegane's eyes were gleaming with fury in the dark as he tossed her an
old fur and sat against the oak tree, his armour jingling noisily all the
while. A confusing mix of feelings that she couldn't quite untangle overwhelmed
Sansa. She kept her eyes open for a moment, certain that she wouldn't find
sleep but in the end, her tiredness got the better of her and she felt herself
gradually fall into a comforting abyss of dreams and unconsciousness.
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Sansa
The sun was slowly setting behind the high green peaks that crowned the horizon
when they finally reached the stream that the Hound had predicted they would
eventually meet. Giant shadows swallowed the foothills almost instantly, their
spectral shapes absorbing trees, rocks and whole hills indifferently, leaving
in their places a blank darkness that would inevitably overtake the rest of the
valley in the hours to come. The Hound would not halt until dusk was truly upon
them and so the unlikely duo continued their progression through the tall pine
trees that thrived in the small vale. They followed the creek from afar,
preferring the relative anonymity and protection of their thick branches to the
openness of the riverbed where one could be seen from many leagues away.
Careful to avoid the big, pale grey rocks that studded the area, Sandor Clegane
let his stallion walk at a slow pace, each of its steps producing soft creaks
as the beast's hooves crushed the dead, dark-orange pine needles that cloaked
the ground.
Since yesterday night when they had briefly crossed the Goldroad, the Hound had
kept heading relentlessly through the mountains and although she was not very
familiar with the geography of the Westerlands, Sansa knew very well that with
each stride that they made, she and the Hound sank deeper into the wild and
further from the lane.
Breaking the silence for the first time since dawn, Sansa suddenly spoke. "Are
we going to head back to the Goldroad soon?" she asked as she was getting
increasingly curious about the man's plans and couldn't bear staying silent any
longer.
"No, we're not," he simply growled without adding any further explanation.
"So where are we going?" Sansa uttered uneasily, frowning to herself as she
wondered what Sandor Clegane had in mind.
Snorting, the Hound answered, "Don't you worry, little bird, I'm still bringing
you to the Golden Tooth. Only, I have no fucking intention of passing by
Lannisport now that the bloody boy is not with us. I don't think his family
would welcome me with open arms when they realised that their damned son was
nowhere to be found." The Hound barked a rough laugh at that, his breastplate
moving against Sansa's back all the while.
Stiffening, she tried to move closer to Stranger's mane but the heavy arms that
flanked her as Sandor Clegane held the horse's reins relaxed and he
unconsciously leaned further into her, preventing her from putting any distance
between them. Biting her lip, Sansa sighed deeply. Now that she had lost her
mare, she had no other option but to ride double with the Hound and that forced
proximity rendered her ill at ease, although she knew very well that given
their current precarious situation, there wasn't much to do about it.
"We'll be cutting through the woods all the way to the Riverlands," Sandor
Clegane finally added after a long moment of silence. "I know the area well
enough to get to the exchange point without losing even so much as a bloody day
from the original schedule. For all I know, we might even make better time
cutting through the mountains."
"Oh… I see," Sansa whispered softly as questions by the hundreds overwhelmed
her.
During the previous evening, the Hound had rescued her from her abductors,
killing Robert on the way with the same facility and emotion that other men
used to crush cockroaches under their boots. Sandor Clegane was a matchless
warrior with unbelievable speed and strength that gave him an advantage in
combat very few men could hope to rival. Sansa was convinced that he could have
annihilated all four of Robert's companions with no difficulty if the desire
had taken him, and so she couldn't help but wonder why he had decided otherwise
and left Julius behind given all the trouble that it now brought him. True, the
young man and Sandor Clegane had had no love for one another but Julius had
nonetheless been the Hound's charge, just like Sansa, so why had he decided to
abandon him whilst saving her?
Staring absently at the pommel, Sansa took a deep breath before giving voice to
her confusion. "What… what will you do once we have reached the Golden Tooth?
You can't go to Lannisport - you just told me so yourself - but doesn't that
mean that you can't go to Casterly Rock either… or even to King's Landing?"
"Aye, that's exactly what it means, little bird," he rasped flatly with a hint
of mirth in his gravelly tone.
Taken aback by the Hound's lack of concern for his own fate, Sansa turned in
the saddle and jerked her head upward to lay her puzzled gaze on him. "You
don't mind?"
Laughing hoarsely, the man shook his head slightly while boring wry eyes into
hers.
"What will you become afterward, when you're done with me then? Where will you
go?" she asked, totally baffled.
Smirking, Sandor Clegane answered, "Fuck me if I know or care, girl. One
thing's for sure, I'm not going back to the Lannisters once I know your mother
has set you safely in your new cage. I hadn't planned any of it, becoming a
buggering deserter and all, but really, I'm almost gladdened by the turn of
events. I'd had enough of those fuckers and especially of that little shit of a
king-"
"But you have a good station with them, they like you-"
"Like me?" He snorted contemptuously at her words. "They like my sword when I
kill their foes and the fear that I inspire everywhere I go, that's about it.
I'll find work elsewhere, don't you lose sleep worrying about me, little bird,"
the Hound said mockingly, his dark eyes still staring down at her.
"Where do you plan on going?" Sansa asked in a softer tone.
"Not sure yet. I might go to the free cities… if there're still boats anchored
in the Riverlands, that is," the Hound replied, his smirk slowly turning into a
scowl as he raised his stare to squint at the horizon.
Lowering her gaze to stare at Stranger's mane again, Sansa murmured, "You would
leave Westeros?"
"I might," the Hound grunted while spitting onto the ground beside them.
As if she hadn't been confused enough already, new questions were starting to
sprout in Sansa's mind. The Hound's motivations and actions were becoming
increasingly obscure to her. She couldn't understand why, now that he had
decided that he would put his many years of loyal service to the Lannisters
behind him and flee the Seven Kingdoms - becoming a free man all the while –
Sandor Clegane still planned on delivering her to her family. It wasn't his
concern anymore if the king's wishes were granted or not and thus he wouldn't
gain anything by escorting her to the Golden Tooth to exchange her for Jaime
Lannister. Even worse, the Hound would also lose precious time and effort in
doing so.
It was almost as if Sandor Clegane genuinely and personally wanted her to be
reunited with her family and aspired to be the one responsible for her safe
return but the idea was too absurd to be considered seriously. That would
explain why he has volunteered for this mission though. He gave his name. No
one forced him, he told you himself, a small voice whispered in the back of
Sansa's head. Shocked by her own silly thoughts, the young girl's eyes widened
and she flushed in shame while flinching slightly away from the Hound.
"What is it?" the man asked pryingly, apparently puzzled by her sudden gesture.
"It's nothing! I'm only… cold," she answered nervously, relieved to have found
a credible excuse so quickly.
"If you're cold, you won't get any warmer that way," the Hound rasped while
bringing his cloak over her with one hand and pushing her shoulder against his
torso with the other. "Better?"
"Yes. Thank you, my lord," she murmured, a rush of warmth staining her already
pink cheeks.
You see, he cares for you, the small voice intervened once again. No, it's
ridiculous. Why would the Hound care anything about me or my fate? The man had
helped her on a few different occasions in the past, that was true enough, but
he had never compromised himself before and none of his interventions had cost
him anything. Apart from when he risked his life to save me during the bread
riot but that was different, she reasoned. He did it for Joffrey's
sake. Although even as she reflected on it, Sansa was discarding her own hollow
argument: she was not naïve enough anymore to believe that the young king would
have shed a single tear if she had been murdered by the press on that tragic
day. Sandor Clegane had acted of his own will and nothing else, same as he was
doing just now.
The revelations about the Hound were mystifying. They were showing him in a new
light that allowed Sansa to see for the first time a man that gave every
appearance of being nothing more than a coarse brute but was seemingly much
more than that. The Hound had a hidden side, Sansa realised, that he might try
to conceal but that she was nevertheless beginning to uncover without him even
noticing it. Not only had Sandor Clegane accepted a risky mission with no other
evident motive than her own well-being, but he had also rushed to her rescue
when she had been abducted by bandits on their way, all the while forfeiting
everything that he had ever gained throughout his life with no more concern
than if he had lost a trivial copper. All of it sounded really… chivalrous. The
Hound, chivalrous? That's impossible! Something was definitely amiss. Sandor
Clegane was not one to sacrifice himself for the sake of a maiden like the
knights did in the songs. On the contrary, he was a hard man who cared for
naught but his sword and his wineskin; he would never forsake himself for
anyone. He didn't care for her. Her heart suddenly beating fast, Sansa's eyes
widened. What if he does? What if he's in love with me?
"We'll stop here. It's getting dark," the Hound rasped, taking her out of her
reflections as he jumped from the saddle.
As his strong hands went to circle her waist, Sansa anxiously recoiled from
them, too shaken by her previous thoughts to act naturally.
"What's the matter with you, girl?" the Hound barked, obviously annoyed by her
reaction.
"Nothing. You startled me, that's all."
Grunting, the man helped her from Stranger's back before freeing the horse from
his saddle. They were still only paces away from the creek and so the Hound led
his stallion toward the fresh water before leaving the beast free to drink his
fill.
"We'll light no fire tonight; too dangerous for now," he rasped, his stare
boring intently into her, as it always did. With a mocking smirk, he added, "I
have some stale bread and rock hard cheese. Want some?"
Not noticing the irony in his tone, Sansa nodded distractedly; her mind was
elsewhere, totally absorbed by the conclusion that she had just drawn.
The notion that Sandor Clegane could have feelings for her was very unsettling
to Sansa. She had never believed that a man such as he could feel anything
beside hate but the more that she thought about it, the more she realised that
all the evidence was pointing toward that very conclusion. Sandor Clegane was
in love with her. What am I thinking? The Hound is not in love with me! I'm
only a stupid little bird to him and I'm even stupider to believe that he would
care for me in such a fashion, she mused, but the idea had already taken root
in her soul and there was no way to chase it away now.
After having settled their lone bedroll on the ground, the Hound nodded toward
it for Sansa to sit. She did as he bid her while the man himself crouched
against a pine tree just beside her. His eyes were on her as he handed her a
piece of bread. That gaze, always the same when he looks at me… It always
troubled me and I never understood it, but now… Was it the way that a man
looked upon the object of his interest? She wasn't sure; she had never been
loved by a man before and thus had no idea how to recognise the signs.
"Cheese?" the Hound rasped as he cut a chunk of the old dairy with his dagger.
"Yes, thank you," Sansa replied anxiously, hastily grabbing it from him.
She ate with no appetite, too lost in her thoughts to truly enjoy the food.
Even as she was still struggling against her recent conclusion, an additional
realisation suddenly froze Sansa in place, sending her heart racing. As if the
concept that the Hound could be in love with her, as she was foolishly
beginning to believe, was not stupefying enough, Sansa now also had to
recognise that she was strangely... flattered at the idea. A man such as Sandor
Clegane was certainly not the kind to enamour himself easily; if her suspicions
were founded, she would have unknowingly accomplished something that very few
would have succeeded in before. The man was certainly nowhere near the ideals
that she had set for herself throughout her young life but she nonetheless
couldn't help but feel an unexpected thrill at the prospect.
"You're quiet tonight," she heard the Hound grunt.
Blushing, she answered while avoiding his prying gaze, "I'm tired, that's all."
"Tired, yes. Tired of being in the woods with the likes of me, I gather. Sleep
tight, little bird. Soon, you'll be done with this nightmare," the Hound
hissed, leaning further onto the pine tree as he closed his eyes.
Turning her gaze to look at him, Sansa sighed deeply. Sandor Clegane was always
so bitter and angry at everything, but could she really blame him? With his
terrible burns, had he ever been loved? Had he ever been kissed? I could kiss
him, she mused while gazing at the man's scarred features. It wouldn't be so
bad; I can look beyond his burns now that I know him better. The Hound had done
everything to deserve to be kissed: he had saved her and was sacrificing
himself for her. She'd be very ungrateful to refuse him that little gesture.
Without thinking further, she moved closer to him and softly pressed her lips
against his.
For a numbed instant, nothing happened but then Sansa felt strong fingers
firmly grab her above the elbow and push her away slightly. Her eyes popped
open and she gasped in shock as she realised what she had just done. His grip
still tight on her arm, the Hound was staring at her with an unreadable
expression.
"What was that?" he snarled almost menacingly.
"I… I was kissing you… to thank you for everything you've done for me."
Relaxing, the Hound snorted. "How selfless of you," he scoffed, before falling
into a brooding silence. For a long and uncomfortable moment, he gazed at her
with the weirdest gleam shining in his eyes before adding, "I want no kisses
from you though. I told you - long ago - what I wanted. Do you remember?"
Uneasy as ever, Sansa whispered, "No… what do you want?"
He laughed wryly. "I want a song."
"A song...?" she exclaimed, baffled.
"Aye," he said, laughing harshly.
Why would he want a song?
Staring at her more intently than before for a long and awkward moment, the
Hound sighed and was about to release her arm when he suddenly smirked. "Forget
what I said," he rasped. "I changed my mind, I'll take that kiss."
His grip tightening, Sandor Clegane pulled Sansa toward him. A heartbeat later,
her body was against his, the roughness of his breastplate pressing against
her. In a much more mature and demanding kiss than the one that she had offered
him a mere instant before, the Hounds lips went searching for hers, their touch
warm and wet as his tongue invaded her mouth, his free hand clutching at her
waist all the while. Bemused by a situation that she had not expected, Sansa
stood petrified, overwhelmed by a mix of known and unknown feelings. She shut
her eyes nonetheless and let Sandor Clegane do as he pleased with her, every
bit of willpower that she possessed leaving her as she leaned onto him. After
what had appeared to her as a dreamlike eternity, the Hound let Sansa's lips go
to look upon her, his hands still holding her tightly. For a few seconds, he
almost glared at her but then plunged his head towards her neck, biting it
lightly as he buried his fingers in her hair. With a passion not far from
despair, the Hound sniffed it but then his touch loosened and he let her go.
Sighing, he gazed elsewhere and whispered nonchalantly, "Go to sleep now."
Momentarily dazed, Sansa stared at him with wide eyes but then came round and
nodded before lying on her bedroll.
She shut her eyes, hearing the Hound as he stalked into the woods to join his
horse near the creek. He was away for some time, only returning much later to
lean against his tree when Sansa was finally about to lose consciousness. Her
sleep would be troubled, overtaken by queer dreams that would leave her almost
as tired as she had been before them.
***** Chapter 7 *****
                                    Sandor
 It was the cawing of a big crow that woke Sandor, a little after dawn. Perched
on a branch not far from him, the fat bird was peering down at him with
piercing ebony eyes as he slowly regained his full awareness. The crow cawed
once again and jumped on the ground with a snap of dry pine needles before
bouncing toward the pine tree the drowsy man was still leaning against.
 Eying the bird with annoyance, Sandor abruptly stood up and strode toward it.
“We’re not dead yet. Go feed in the Riverlands, will you?” he hissed as he was
about to kick the animal.
 The crow flew away just in time and disappeared toward the sunrise, its
strident lament echoing through the valley all the while. Good riddance, Sandor
mused as he followed the tiny dark shape as it merged with the sun. I hope you
collide with the sun. We’ll see if you caw so proudly then. Smirking at his own
jest, Sandor’s attention was suddenly caught by the stirring of the small
bundle of fur that lay on the ground beside him. The girl was waking up. No
wonder with all the noise that that damned bird made,he concluded as he stared
down at his charge. Yawning and stretching, she appeared dazed for an instant
but quickly averted her eyes from him and blushed when she realised that she
was being observed so closely.
 Scowling, Sandor grunted and turned around before stalking toward the creek.
“I’ll go feed Stranger. Get ready,” he rasped simply.
 The stallion was drinking water from the stream when Sandor joined him; he
briefly raised his head to glance at his master but hastily lowered his muzzle
to the water again. Distractedly, Sandor patted his flank before heading to a
tree to take his morning piss. Sighing, he drew his head back and shut his
eyes. Sleep had been neither long nor deep enough for him to truly be rested.
The events of the previous night, although short-lived, had kept him awake for
many hours. He had replayed their thread in his head at least a dozen times,
trying to make sense of them.
 The little bird had kissed him, taking advantage of his inattention to do so
when Sandor was least expecting it. The feel of her plump lips as they lightly
pressed against his had taken him right out of his doze and his eyes had
instantly popped open to see the girl’s beautiful face less than an inch from
his. Her expression was so bloody peaceful that for an instant time had been
suspended. He’d been too disconcerted to react and too absorbed by the
unaccustomed softness of the gesture to immediately push her away. The girl’s
kiss had been like nothing that he had ever known. It was tender and sweet,
innocent and chaste; a kiss taken right out of a buggering song. Sandor snorted
at the realisation. The kiss of a maiden for her bloody knight, he concluded,
shaking his head in disbelief as he uttered a short harsh laugh, the absurdity
of it all too plain to stay completely serious.
 Well, he had still taken it in the end, hadn’t he? Sandor had not lied when he
had told the little bird that his true desire was to hear her sing for him but
a kiss was the next best thing and since he had always hated waste, he couldn’t
let this occasion slip by and not grasp it. Brutes like him wouldn’t settle for
modest pecks though. The girl had better learn that if she were to choose so
poorly to whom she’d gift her kisses and be so generous with anyone who’d
helped her. Stunning as she was becoming, knights, sellswords and even the
lowest poxy retainers would line-up just to get a chance to assist her. If she
didn’t gain some much-needed judgement and kept on offering her lips so damned
easily, a catastrophe was sure to happen sooner than later. Kisses weren’t safe
presents, few men wouldn’t be tempted to take more than she’d offered once
they’d felt the touch of those luscious lips against theirs. Sandor himself was
not much better; for half a second as he was tasting her sweet mouth, he had
considered tearing her dress open and taking her right there on the solid
ground but had known better than to rape his own charge and thus let her go
before his blood became too hot. It’s going be hard to look at her now, without
thinking of how fucking perfect she felt under my touch, Sandor mused bitterly,
mouth twitching slightly as he handed some hay to Stranger.
 “Do you have anything to eat?” a small whisper suddenly surprised him, taking
him out of his reflections.
 Turning his head around, Sandor’s gaze fell on the girl. She was standing
still and nervously staring at her hand, obviously petrified to address him
after what had arisen between them the previous night.
 Tossing Stranger’s hay on the ground, Sandor strolled toward his saddlebags
and searched through the jumble inside. “Here,” he said after a few seconds,
while throwing a wrinkled apple in the girl’s direction.
 The little bird’s eyes grew wide as she hurried to catch the fruit just before
it fell on the soil. Smirking at the spectacle that she made, Sandor’s gaze met
hers for a short instant but the girl quickly turned her back on him, her
uneasiness plain as she hurriedly flew away while munching at the old apple.
 Frowning, Sandor watched her as she disappeared into the woods but then
snorted and grabbed his saddle in his arms. We’re back to square one; a scared,
mute little bird afraid of the coarse hound that guards her, he reflected
sardonically before snorting again.  I was just becoming used to her constant
buggering chirping. Well, at least I know that she won’t naively go on kissing
men as if it had no fucking consequences. She learned a bloody good lesson
yesterday, the hard way, he decided as he settled the saddle on Stranger’s
back.
 The sun was getting higher by the minute, Sandor realised with concern as he
put on his cloak and grabbed an apple for himself. “Hurry, little bird. Time to
go,” he flatly yelled in her direction. Contrary to what he had assured her the
day before, Sandor was far from certain that they would make it on schedule for
the exchange, and so he was adamant about making the best time possible today.
 After a moment, the girl arrived, still avoiding his stare as she approached
him. His scowl deepening, Sandor grabbed her by the waist with a bit too much
force. A yelp escaped her lips and she tensed under his touch as he lifted her
from the ground and settled her on their mount. Mouth twitching, the man jumped
up behind her and kicked his stallion with his heels; the beast began to walk,
continuing on with their long journey toward the Golden Tooth.
 ****
 It was close to midday when a cloak of grey clouds began to cover the sun and
the once pure azure in which it revolved. Although the light still pierced
through, the darkening of the sky augured naught but inevitable rain in this
season and thus Sandor continuously kept squinting upward as if his severe gaze
could somehow keep the elements in check. His mood, as grim as the weather, was
in fact truly a counterpart of the girl’s demeanour, growing increasingly more
morose as the hours went on and she held her tongue and systematically avoided
his gaze.
 “You’re hungry, girl?” he rasped, as much to fill the void between them than
to voice his own building craving for some food.
 Wordlessly, the little bird nodded slightly while keeping her eyes on the
pommel.
 Sighing deeply, Sandor abruptly halted Stranger.Enough of this, he thought to
himself with annoyance as he jumped from the saddle. The little bird threw him
a puzzled glance as he circled his hands around her tiny waist but once he had
set her down, her pretty blue eyes were already demurely lowered. Glaring down
at her, Sandor grabbed her chin with gloved fingers and lifted her head upward.
Her face was all flushed and her eyes were wide but she was finally gazing at
him.
 “Listen to me, little bird,” he said dryly. “I don’t know what in the seven
hells got into you to kiss me yesterday but I wasn’t the one to start it, you
were. If you regret it, it’s your own damned fault, so don’t take it out on me.
I told you before, I want you to look at me and I won’t stand your silence much
longer either, you hear me?”
 For a short moment Sandor regretted his outburst for the girl seemed even more
anxious than before, eluding his eyes - exactly as he had just demanded her not
to - but only for a few seconds before she unexpectedly raised her gaze to look
at him. “I’m sorry,” she answered in weak voice. “I… I don’t regret it; you
deserved it, only… it was my first kiss,” she added while blushing madly. “I
shouldn’t have avoided you as I did today. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
 Releasing her chin, Sandor studied her for some time. Her first kiss, with a
dog,he mused wryly, a smirk uncontrollably forming on his lips. She’s shy as a
maiden… naturally. “Whatever your reasons, I’ll forgive you as long as you stop
acting so bloody haughty,” he rasped in a softer tone as he turned around to
get some bread from Stranger’s saddlebag. “Here, take this. We’ll eat in the
saddle. I don’t like the look of that sky. We’d better get going.”
 Obviously more at ease than she had been throughout the whole day, the little
bird acquiesced with a bright smile and let Sandor settle her into the saddle
without flinching.
 It was in a much improved atmosphere that they rode for the first few hours of
the afternoon, though still in silence. The girl wasn’t so tense anymore, her
soft body had relaxed and was even leaning into him from time to time, but in
those moments it was Sandor’s turn to be tense. He couldn’t help but look down
at her curves, a nearly uncontrollable urge to fondle every inch of her skin
overtaking him as he remembered how intoxicating it had felt to hold her in his
arms. His lust for her had alarmingly increased, he realised with a hint of
apprehension.
 “I felt a drop!” the little bird suddenly cried out, as Sandor was
distractedly breathing in the aroma of her luxuriant hair.
 “Raise your hood to keep your face dry. I’ll find us a place to spend the
night, don’t worry.”
 Peering at the horizon, Sandor quickly gauged the distance that separated them
from the nearest mountains. They were relatively close but he had no
unrealistic expectations; the chances that they could get to their base in time
to find a shelter before the flood truly began were very thin. He would need to
think of something else. Just as he was resigning himself to trying to reach
the hills anyway, Sandor noticed that there was a descent not too far to his
left. He could only hope that on the foot of that slope there would be some
sort of cave or even a mere hollow where they could hide for the night. In a
few hasty strides, Stranger had reached the descent and Sandor was relieved to
see that it was neither too steep nor too high.
 Jumping from his mount’s back, he raised his eyes to the girl. “We’re going
down. It’ll be easier for Stranger to descend that slope without my weight on
his back. Stay there though, you’re light as a bloody feather. I’ll wager he
doesn’t even feel you’re there.”
 Giggling lightly, the little bird blushed a pretty shade of pink and for a
moment, Sandor wondered if it hadn’t been for the best when she was ignoring
him but he chased the idea away and began to descend while keeping a firm grip
on Stranger’s reins. The rain was still faint but the gloom of the clouds
promised a torrent that would overtake the valley very soon and so Sandor
hurried down the slope, following natural paths that weren’t as precipitous as
the rest of the hillside. The girl was quiet; he could tell that she was
nervous, same as Stranger.  A few murmurs of encouragement were enough to
soothe the beast however, but when Sandor jerked his head around to see how the
little bird was faring, he noticed that she had curiously been reassured by his
soft words, same as the horse.
 Once they were finally down, the man scanned his surroundings and was quick to
find what he was looking for. Only a few paces from him, the mouth of a cave
was visible, hidden behind a clump of trees. Perfect, he mused as he entered
the dark opening. The cavern wasn’t really deep but it was big enough for him
to stand in its entrance and there was space enough for both he and his charge
to sleep comfortably. They could even build a small fire if there was still
some dry wood to be found nearby. Stranger, on the other hand, would have to
spend the night under the pine trees, but it wouldn’t be so bad; the stallion
had seen far worse.
 “It’s no inn but it’s better than soaking ourselves to the skin. I’ll try to
find some dead wood before the bloody deluge falls on us,” Sandor rasped as he
settled the saddle inside the cave.
 The little bird was gazing around her with badly-concealed reserve, obviously
apprehensive at being left alone but she nonetheless smiled at him and nodded.
 Underneath the pine trees, Sandor found enough dry wood to light a respectable
fire and brought it all back to the cavern in many round trips. In the hope of
making the place as cosy as possible, he also collected some pine branches on
his way and carpeted the cave’s floor with it; it was no feather bed but
anything was better than the cold cruelty of a cave’s hard surface. After about
an hour of preparation, Sandor was finally done. As he sat by the fire after
setting his cloak to dry on a boulder not far away, the first thunder of the
evening reverberated across the valley, its raucous din quickly followed by a
flash of lightning and a sudden downpour.
 “A storm!” the little bird exclaimed as she turned her head toward the cave’s
mouth. “I can’t believe we made it just in time! We’ll be dry tomorrow when we
leave this place,” she added with a broad smile while undoing her long braid.
Her hair was extremely tangled and she tried almost vainly to work through it
with her fingers for some time, quickly losing her grin and sighing at her lack
of progress. “I’ll never get through this. I lost all my things, my brush, my
dresses…” she complained in a whisper.
 Sandor snorted and twisted around from his place to search in the saddlebag.
“Here, take my comb. I won’t hear you complain all night,” he told her as he
handed her an old wooden comb.
 Grinning, the little bird hurriedly grasped it. “Oh, thank you! My hair is in
such a mess, I was getting worried that I would never unravel it,” she chirped
with as much gratitude as if he had given her a buggering golden necklace while
a new flash of lightning lit up the cave. Standing up with glimmering wide
eyes, she approached the cave’s mouth while murmuring, “What a beautiful storm,
it’s been so long since I’ve seen one.”
 Beautiful, yes, Sandor thought as he watched her silhouette moving slowly away
from him. The little bird worked patiently through her hair for a long time
while gazing distractedly at the thunderstorm as it raged outside. Putting her
long locks sideways, she caressed the curls with her fingers and the comb while
humming an unknown melody to Sandor. Her pale neck was exposed to his thirsty
vision and he was drinking from the sight of that pure skin with the same
hunger than a starved man would gulp wine. His stare was getting too heavy for
the girl not to notice; she glanced at him, seemingly disconcerted by its
intensity. Nervously, she managed a faint smile before jerking her head around
almost completely and resumed combing her hair as if nothing had happened.
 No, little bird, something did happen. Yesterday you foolishly let me get a
taste of you, and now all I can think about is consuming you completely. How
was he ever going to make it to the Golden Tooth without taking her or at least
touching and kissing her again? Some things are simply bloody impossible, he
sighed to himself as he stood up and slowly approached the oblivious girl from
behind. His heart fluttering, he lightly circled his fingers around her throat
and pressed his open mouth to the nape of her neck. The little bird tensed and
gasped as the comb slipped out of her hand but she stayed still. Breathing
heavily, Sandor let his hand slide under the girl’s dress to caress her
shoulder and collarbone, his lips travelling to the side of her neck, licking
it and biting it lightly but firmly while his free hand instinctively grasped
her waist. Her breasts were heaving up and down at a fast pace, her cheeks were
flushed and her eyes shut when he finally raised his head from the crook of her
neck.
 Is she scared? he wondered, his hands still possessively clenched on her. As
he was about to let her go, the girl turned around and looked up at him. Her
cheeks were aflame and her mouth was slightly opened in an expression of utter
shock but her eyes were piercing as ever. They were boring into his with so
much intensity that he felt as if she was seeing him for the very first time.
Sandor stood motionless for an instant but then he felt it again; her plump
lips reaching for his as softly, chastely and tenderly as the first time, in a
brief and unexpected kiss.
 Transfixed for a moment, he could only peer down at her, baffled as she
suddenly left his mouth. “Why would you do that again, little bird?” he simply
rasped.
 Flushed and out of breath, she whispered, “I thought you might like it. You
deserved it… again.”
 “Really?” he growled in a low tone. “Does that mean that you’ll be kissing me
every time that I behave?” Sandor muttered slowly. Caressing the girl’s jaw, he
snorted before adding, “As if I were a bloody hound for real, and you its
master, rewarding it with kisses. Is that it?”
 Breathing in, she lowered her stare and tried to recoil from him but he didn’t
want her to go and his grip was too firm. What is she trying to achieve with
this? She was still so young, having just shared her very first kiss with him
on the previous night. A maiden exploring her seductive might for the first
time, that’s what she is.Sandor was a toy, he realised, a wounded mouse thrown
to a kitten by its mother so that it could learn how to hunt and kill. The
thought brought a smirk to his lips. I’ll be just that, if that’s what you
want, Sansa. I’m yours to play with. Sharpen your little claws on me, if that’s
what you will. I won’t ever complain and you, you’ll have to most faithful dog
of them all. A hound never bites the hand that feeds him,he reflected, as he
caressed her cheek with his fingers. At the feel of his touch, the girl’s gaze
rose; their eyes locked and she shyly smiled at him.
Right then, Sandor realised that he had just found his first true master.
 
***** Chapter 8 *****
Hello everyone!
Here’s a new chapter, at last! Sorry if I kept you waiting. Anyway, it’s longer
than usual so in a way it’s like a double chapter…
Special thanks to my beta wildsky_sheri, as always and a happy new year to all
of my readers!!!
                                        
                                     Sansa
   
Lying on her bedroll with her eyes wide open, Sansa stared at the wet rocky
ceiling of the cavern in which she and the Hound had spent the night. She had
just woken up and to her utter surprise, she felt more rested than she had
since the day that her father had been beheaded and her life had been morphed
into a living nightmare by that tragic event. Who would have thought that such
a gloomy environment could turn out to be so cozy and warm?shereflected as she
let her gaze wander over the craggy and sinister walls. Rising on her elbow,
Sansa glanced out of the mouth of the cave; the weather was still as wet as the
previous afternoon, however through the thick rain, sunbeams were shyly
beginning to pierce the clouds, lighting up the once shadowy floor of the
forest. With some luck, the rain would stop completely before they were both
ready to go.
For the first time since their departure, Sandor Clegane was sleeping late. It
wasn’t like him to linger in bedafter the sunrise and Sansa was far from
accustomed to being the first one to rise of the two of them but she
nevertheless didn’t have the heart to wake him up. After four days of either
sleeping against a wooden door, a tree or on pine branches, not only did the
Hound deserve to rest but he also badly needed to catch up on rest in order to
stay in his prime. Who knew the dangers that were to come? I wonder how he’s
able to sleep clad in steel,she mused distractedly as she eyed the man’s old,
plain grey amour. Sandor Clegane’s large body lay on its back only a few feet
from her, snoring lightly and stirring in a crackle of steel from time to time.
His long limbs were spread around him and one of his hands rested on the ground
only a few inches from Sansa. Such big, strong hands, she reflected, the
thought sending shivers through her as memory of their jealous touch assailed
her and images of the previous night flashed in her mind. Sitting up, Sansa’s
gaze travelled over the Hound’s arm and slowly reached his face. From where she
lay, she could only see his burns and the twisted and leathery flesh was still
as gruesome as it had been on their first encounter. Naught could ever conceal
nor change that cruel reality. So why did I want to kiss him again? she
wondered, puzzled by her own actions. He did deserve a kiss for all the help
that he gave me - I would never deny it - but two? I should’ve slapped him
instead after the liberties that he has taken with me! Maidens were expected to
gift kisses to their saviors in order to express their gratitude, it was well
known and so by that gesture Sansa had only meant to show the Hound her
thankfulness, not to give him permission to touch her like he had while she was
brushing her hair. Sandor Clegane had even gone as far as to impudently slide
his hand under her collar. That was highly improper! she mused, heat flushing
her cheeks as her tummy fluttered queerly. The kiss that had ensued had come
out of nowhere and the Hound had not even seemed to appreciate it at first,
rendering Sansa scared that he would be mad at her for it but then the man had
gently caressed her cheek and led her near the fire to eat their dinner as if
nothing had happened. Once she had eaten, Sansa - who was exhausted by their
long day of travel - had fallen asleep almost instantly and so there had been
no more contact between the two of them on that night.
What would the Hound have done if I had not fallen asleep? He probably would
have tried to kiss me again, with his tongue and all, as he had two days ago,
she decided as a deep and unexpectedly exhilarating flush crept over her whole
body. Abashed by her own unladylike reaction to such a brutish man, Sansa had
no other option than to admit to herself that she had indeed enjoyed the
Hound’s touch and attention, no matter how unseemly it had been. His interest
in her was unmistakable and that in itself was quite thrilling; it brought her
a whole new kind of gratification that she had never experienced before but
that she enjoyed thoroughly. Sandor Clegane’s ways were strange to her though.
He was more beast than man when it came to intimacy, she realized as a small
smile unconsciously formed on her lips. Despite his age, the Hound had most
likely not been with many women judging by the clumsy and coarse fashion of his
approaches, offering more licks, bites and sniffing than kisses and soft
caresses as would be expected of a regular grown man. Mayhap that was the
reason why she had kissed him again, she decided, to show him how ladies were
meant to be courted. Would the Hound listen to her if she tried to teach him
how those things were meant to be done? It was hard to say but it was worth
trying. Worth trying? What am I thinking? I have nothing to gain from that!
As Sansa was trying to figure out her own silly thoughts, the Hound suddenly
grunted and opened his eyes.
Turning his head around, he laid his already alert gaze on her. “You’re awake,
little bird?” he said, snorting. “I slept too long.”
Blushing instantly, Sansa replied softly, “No, you needed rest. It’s still
raining anyhow.”
His stare was on her for some time before he sat up and glanced outside. “True,
the sun is about to show itself though. We might as well wait a bit.” After a
yawn, the Hound rose from the ground and stretched before heading outside.
“I’ll go check on Stanger for a moment.”
Nodding, Sansa followed his lead and stood up. The Hound’s wooden comb was
still lying on the soil in the cave’s entrance where she had dropped it the
previous night and so she strolled toward it and picked it up. Carefully, she
resumed the brushing of her hair, all the while watching Sandor Clegane as he
fed his fierce dark stallion. Feeling that her attention was on him, the man
abruptly twisted his head around and gazed at her. His eyes were narrowed and
the hint of a smirk had appeared on his lips as he chucked Stranger’s hay on
the ground and re-entered the cavern. Very slowly, he approached Sansa,
stopping only when he was inches from her, his stare boring into her as he
loomed over her. He definitely made for a frightening sight but Sansa didn’t
flinch from him for there was something new and exciting about that fright. She
stood motionless, anticipation overcoming her as she listened to her own
frantic heartbeat, waiting for something to happen.
After an unknown number of almost unbearable seconds during which time halted
completely, Sandor Clegane finally spoke. “I won’t stop you this time around,
or else you’ll never be done with that hair of yours,” he muttered as he moved
away from her, his gaze never once leaving her as he sat against a boulder. 
For an instant, Sansa remained petrified, a strange mix of relief and
disappointment overwhelming her. Her hair was still a mess though and therefore
she shortly shook herself and proceeded with her task.
When her locks were finally untangled and shone as brightly as copper, Sansa
walked toward the boulder where Sandor Clegane was crouched and handed him his
comb. “Here, my lord. Thank you so much,” she told him softly, a shy smile on
her lips.
“You know I’m no buggering lord, Sansa,” he rasped while grasping her wrist
instead of the comb. “Shouldn’t you call me Sandor now that you’re kissing me?”
Sansa gasped as the Hound yanked her down. She fell over him but quickly moved
off and got on her knees beside him, her palms resting flatly over his
breastplate to gain some balance. The man’s strong fingers were still on her
wrist and he hastily grabbed her waist with his free hand to prevent her from
going any further. Warmth was suffusing Sansa’s whole body as she stared at
him, eyes glistening with surprise. There’s no point in trying to recoil from
him, he’s too strong, she rationalized as she sat down, letting him drag her
toward him and bury his face in her hair. His breath was warm against her neck
and the sensation was quite pleasurable. Instinctively, she drew back her head
and shut her eyes but it wasn’t long before she realized that he was snuffling
her like a dog again. She wasn’t able to hold back a giggle at the thought.
 “What’s so funny, little bird?” the Hound asked as he leaned his head back
against the boulder and looked at her, a smirk on his lips.
“Nothing, it’s just that you…” she trailed off, grinning and blushing madly.
“I what?” he inquired, eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip on her. “Tell
me.”
She surely couldn’t tell him that she found his animal ways to be quite amusing
and so she decided to shut him up with the only weapon that she possessed which
she knew would work on him. Softly, she pressed her lips against his, offering
him a short and tender kiss, the gesture inducing a satisfied grunt from him as
butterflies filled her belly. He was eyeing her hungrily, mouth slightly opened
when she slowly moved her head back. How can kissing such a man feel so good?
she wondered, biting her lip nervously. Not truly caring to learn the answer to
that question but craving for more of that weirdly pleasant fluttering, Sansa
leaned her body further into his and kissed him again, this time slower, her
lips lingering against his, caressing them tentatively.  Both she and the Hound
kept their eyes opened through the kiss and as she grew bold enough to let the
tip of her tongue shyly slide over his bottom lip, Sansa saw something change
in his gaze. A fire had been lit in his eyes, or so it seemed. His breathing
heavy, the Hound’s body had tensed but he had curiously gone still, almost
impassive. His hands, although still on her, had loosened their grip and that
loss of strength was not only unexpected but almost frustrating to Sansa who
could only stare back at him, slightly confused by that abrupt shift in
him.What’s the matter with him? she wondered perplexedly, a pout forming on her
lips.
His expression unreadable, the Hound seemed to ponder something for a long
moment before he broke the awkward silence that stood between them. “We’d
better get going, the rain has stopped,” he rasped as he gently pushed her away
from him and rose. “Stay here, I’ll go prepare Stranger.”
For an instant, Sansa stayed in place, baffled by Sandor Clegane’s reaction but
then she sighed and stood up. I might as well do something while I wait, she
decided as she headed to the bedroll, rolled it and folded the fur. When she
was done, she braided her hair and tied her lone ribbon at its end before
sitting on the pine branches on which the Hound had slept. Why did he have to
go so abruptly? I thought he liked my kisses,she complained inwardly, slightly
irritated by his brusque and unanticipated retreat. As she was starting to grow
impatient and considering going to see for herself what was taking so long,
Sandor Clegane re-entered the cavern.
“You’re ready, girl?” he asked as he picked up the saddle.
Still on the ground, Sansa looked up to glare at the towering man. “Yes, my
lord,” she answered in a dry tone after some time.
Smirking, the Hound retorted, “No more ‘my lord’. I told you. Sandor. That’s my
name.” When she did not reply, the man added in low rasp, “Is something amiss,
Sansa?”
“No, of course not,” she murmured coldly, head held high.
“Then stop pouting and come,” he growled as he grabbed her above the elbow and
raised her from the ground. Pausing to study her for an instant, Sandor Clegane
continued, a hint of mirth in his gravelly voice, “Unless you’d prefer that I
drag you under my arm, like that saddle.”
As he voiced his threat, the man’s smirk evolved into a grin and the sight was
so unusual and bizarre that Sansa felt her own mouth uncontrollably curl into a
wide smile.
“See, that’s much better,” the Hound said while caressing her cheek with
calloused fingers. “Come.”
He led her outside and Sansa watched as he swung the saddle over Stranger’s
back before circling her waist and settling her over it. They were shortly on
their way, riding though a thick wood of pine trees at first, but as the day
went by and they kept descending steadily, Sansa noticed a slow but definitive
change in the vegetation of the vale. Conifers were gradually giving way to
broad-leaved trees and the young maiden was amazed by the beauty of their
autumn finery. Their leaves of varying hues of yellow and red were shining in
the sunlight as thousands of summer flowers cloaked the hills from top to
bottom and she had never seen anything even slightly comparable. The scenery
was astounding; she couldn’t stop herself from commenting on every new sight
that they came across, sharing all her impressions with her companion even
though the man didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. The Hound stayed mostly
silent but he didn’t appear to mind her excitement either and thus Sansa, who
was growing increasingly more at ease and comfortable with every passing
minute, kept on talking and even rested a delicate hand over one of his arms at
some point during the day, a contact that lasted throughout the rest of the
ride.
As the sun slowly but irrevocably approached the mountains, Sansa and her
escort entered a small clearing in the middle of which was an apparition from
the heavens - a robust apple tree where plump, shiny fruit flourished by the
dozen.
“Apples! Fresh apples! I could hardly bear to eat those wrinkled ones we still
have!” Sansa exclaimed with immense delight, as Sandor Clegane halted their
mount. She could almost taste their juicy and sweet pulp from afar.
“I’ll agree it won’t bloody hurt to eat something that’s not stale or hard
enough to break a fine set of teeth,” he rasped as he helped Sansa down from
the horse.
The apple tree was tall and only a few branches were low enough for Sansa to
pluck the fruit by herself but a fat and appetizing apple was within her reach
and so she grasped it immediately. Few things had ever tasted so good to Sansa
and therefore she was all smiles as she engulfed its tender flesh, all the
while watching Stranger lower his head to pick a few apples on the ground for
himself.
“I got rid of those mockeries of apples that we were afflicted with,” Sandor
Clegane said after Sansa was done eating. “I’m sure you won’t complain if we
bring a few of these ones instead.”
Her enthusiasm was evident as she vigorously nodded and so the Hound slid his
hands around her waist and lifted her from the ground, settling her on the
lowest branch of the tree.
“Here, help me with that,” the Hound demanded, as he pointed upward to the
fruit that now surrounded her.
With plenty of apples now easy to access, Sansa began her careful plucking,
handing them one by one to her companion, who was filling the saddlebag with
their precious finds. As their provisions expanded and the saddlebag became
fuller than it had been in weeks, the fruits within reach were getting scarcer
and thus Sansa peered upward one last time to make sure that she had taken all
she could. Just as she was about to reach for an apple, she felt strong hands
travel from her sides to her lower back as a warm mouth pressed hungrily
against her neck just below the ear. A gasp on her lips, Sansa’s eyes grew wide
but rapidly thinned in pleasure as she instinctively snaked her arms over her
hulking assailant’sshoulders. She was perched on a branch like the little bird
he had so often claimed she was and from that roost she could for once look
down at him - although only barely - as he tilted his head to gaze at her, eyes
narrowed and burning intently again. This time, their kiss was mutual and
passionate, all her previous chastity melting like snow in the summer sun.
Without restraint, Sansa let the Hound’s demanding tongue guide hers in a queer
and almost obscene dance that made her blush madly as heat spread over her
whole body in an unsettling but delicious way.
The passion of the moment overtaking her judgment, she didn’t even flinch when
Sandor Clegane’s hands slid alarmingly high on her ribs but a creaking sound
that came from the edge of the woods nonetheless caught her attention.
As Sansa was opening dreamy eyes, a voice that resounded through the forest
suddenly made her jump in place. “Ooh!” she heard the voice exclaim.
In one swift movement, the Hound turned around, his left hand still
possessively clasped around her waist. “What in the seven hells is that?” he
hissed hoarsely, barely containing his confusion and annoyance.
“Uh… n… nothing m’lord,” the voice replied in a scared whisper.
Leaving Sansa, Sandor Clegane quickly strode toward the intruder. It was a
skinny woman of an age with Sansa’s mother. Her hair was a shade between brown
and grey, she was of average height and she looked extremely poor judging by
the tattered state of her gown and worn-out cloak. At the sight of the Hound’s
scars, the woman’s already taut face distorted with fright as she instinctively
moved back from him.
“M’lord Hound! I’m s… sorry if I interrupted you, I’ll leave you alone now,”
she cried out as she was about to turn around and flee.
“No one ever told you that you weren’t supposed to spy on people?” the man
rasped as he caught the woman’s upper arm with his hand just in time.
“I was not spying! I was only going to pick some apples for me and the others,”
she retorted as she lowered panicked eyes to the ground.
“The others?” the Hound sneered. “Didn’t think these damned mountains were
inhabited apart from stinking goats and a few lost pilgrims. How many poxy
peasants are there, hiding in these woods like bloody rats?”
“N… not many, but times are harsh, m’lord! We had to flee from the Riverlands.
It was that or die burning or - who knows - even worse!”
Snorting, Sandor Clegane pulled on the woman’s arm to make her look at him. “Of
course,” he scoffed. “Show us to that little settlement of yours, will you? I’m
dying to see the jape of a village you live in.” Releasing the woman’s arm, he
added lowly in a threatening tone while nodding toward Sansa, “And no fucking
word to anyone about that thing you interrupted between the lady and I,
understood?”
“Oh yes,” she acquiesced with vigor.
“Fine. Go on then, we’ll follow you.”
The woman stared at her feet for a moment, her breathing frantic, before she
abruptly headed into the woods.
Sansa was still settled on the branch and as the Hound grabbed her by the waist
to place her on Stanger’s saddle instead, she whispered to him in a reproachful
tone, “You were very harsh with that poor woman.”
“I’m harsh with everyone,” he replied, looking more serious than ever.
The Hound didn’t bother to straddle his horse and only led the beast by its
reins as he followed in the unknown woman’s path. It wasn’t long before they
arrived at another bigger clearing in which bleak huts had been built up. A few
dirty children, seven maybe, were running and playing with one another while
four women were grouped around a fire, two of them with toddlers in their laps
while the others were busy mending faded clothes. As they heard the dull sound
of Stranger’s hooves on the ground, they all turned worried eyes on their
friend and gaped when they saw her escort.
“As you can see, m’lord, we’re just a bunch of poor smallfolk. We’re doing no
harm here-”
“Bert? Who’s those people?” another woman cried out, although her expression
revealed that she had already guessed the Hound’s identity.
“Nice people, of course. They only want accommodation for the night, that’s
all,” the woman named Bert answered nervously as two of her friends stood up
and approached.
One of them, an old woman with long grayish-white hair lifted her hand to her
mouth, her eyes suddenly widened. “You look just like her!” she said, staring
at Sansa. “You’re her daughter, of course. Winterfell’s daughter!”
For a moment, Sansa was too dumbstruck to react, all she could do was lower her
gaze on the Hound who was as silent as she, his mouth twitching. The woman
named Bert gazed incredulously at her older friend for an instant but then she
brusquely turned her stare on Sansa, shock filling her eyes. Oh, right, the
kiss…
“I saw your mother more than once when she was your age,” the old woman
continued. “You’re her very image; you have my word on it! My late husband -
the gods bless him – used to work for one of your grandfather’s bannermen. I
was blessed enough to meet the Lord of Riverrun and his family on a few
occasions.”
“Meet them? Did you share bread and salt with them, hag?” the Hound rasped
between gritted teeth. “More like you saw them from afar, hidden inside that
dilapidated cabin you called your house.”
“The lord of the Riverlands took the time to salute and bless us,” the crone
dauntlessly retorted.
“And did that blessing help you?’ Sandor Clegane inquired, snorting as he
approached the woman. “Seems like it didn’t, looking at you now.”
Why is he so mean? That was unnecessary and rude, Sansa reflected as she laid
outraged eyes on the Hound, disappointed by the total lack of tact that he was
showing. Apparently not noticing the change in her demeanor, the man grasped
her by the waist and brought her to the ground. After recoiling from him and
rapidly smoothing her skirts, Sansa headed toward the old woman to introduce
herself. Two children of about six or seven years old had gotten closer to the
action and were staring apprehensively in their direction while the others had
all rejoined their mothers, some of them crying pitifully. The scene was so
miserable that Sansa felt overwhelmed by shame; she was nonetheless able to
compose herself, determined to repair the damage as much as possible.
“I am very honored to hear that you’ve met my lady mother and lord
grandfather,” she began with a bright smile as she approached the crone. “As
you deduced, I am Sansa of House Stark. Who do I have the pleasure of-”
“We’re back! We caught plenty of hares, a goat even!” distant joyful voices
interrupted her.
As they heard the remote noises that their returning husbands made as they
neared the camp, the women all appeared to grow even more distraught,
exchanging wordless glances with one another as Sandor Clegane turned his
prying gaze in the newcomers’ direction. Three men were strolling toward the
clearing, their arms filled with dead animals. They seemingly had not noticed
their impromptu visitors for they were laughing and talking loudly. As they
were strolling only paces from the camp, they suddenly halted in their path,
finally realizing that something was wrong. The Hound had already begun walking
toward them and was glaring at them with open disdain.
“You bloody smallfolk have been stealing from the noblemen’s reserve, I see.
Your lords never told you that their game wasn’t meant for you?” Sandor Clegane
spat while poking the goat that hung from one of the men’s shoulders.
“We…” one of the men trailed off before frowning. “Who are you and what are you
here for?”
“It’s the Hound, can’t you see, Aldous?” one of the women with a toddler in her
lap exclaimed.
The man’s skin suddenly turned white and he dropped his game on the ground.
“We’re only trying to survive here, ser. Please, don’t tell.”
The Hound snorted. “And why should I spare you? You’re not in the bloody
Riverlands. We’re still in Westerlands territory here and I’m certain that my
lord Tywin Lannister would like to hear about you buggers poaching on his
lands.”
“Please, ser! We’re no thieves-”
“And I’m no ser,” Sandor Clegane snarled menacingly.
What game is the Hound playing? Sansa wondered, frowning all the more.  She
knew very well that he had repudiated his ancient masters and that he was now
no more attached to Tywin Lannister than these people were. Couldn’t he see
that they were only trying to feed their children? He was being cruel, she
realized. “We won’t denounce you,” she heard herself say. “Give us shelter and
you can count on our silence.”
“Thank you, m’lady,” the man exclaimed, bowing clumsily but sincerely.
“And share that meat with us,” the Hound added while nodding at the dead goat
that lay on the ground.
“Of course, m’lord.”
****
The goat was long skinned and had been roasting over the fire for more than an
hour. Sansa had used that spare time to become acquainted with the smallfolk
that were receiving them, learning each of their names and even cradling one of
the toddlers in her arms at one point to give his mother a break. As they had
briefly mentioned earlier, their hosts were all honest people escaping the
horrors of the war that thrived in the Riverlands and they were all thrilled to
shelter the daughter of Catelyn Tully in their modest camp. Sansa was glad to
lighten their day with her presence and happy to listen to their stories but
she couldn’t quite completely give her attention to them for she was
continually distracted by Sandor Clegane’s heavy and invasive stare. She tried
all she could to ignore him; the man deserved it after all, and so her eyes
methodically avoided the Hound’s dark shape as he kept himself apart from the
group and scowled at anyone who dared approach him.
When the goat was cooked at last and ready to be eaten, Sandor Clegane, who had
left them a moment ago, called Sansa out from the wooden structure in which the
smallfolk kept their few provisions and old mules and that would serve as a
stable for Stranger for the night.
Standing up, she left the women who all gave her looks as worried as if she had
just received an invitation from the Stranger himself. She couldn’t help but
feel slightly nervous herself as she neared the relatively remote structure and
saw the Hound’s tall shadow in the foreground before her, long enough that it
had already reached her.
“Here you are,” she heard him say as he caught her by the waist and yanked her
to him. “Not too bloody disconcerted about the prospect of sleeping in one of
those sloppy huts?” he hoarsely muttered in her ear.
Recoiling from him, Sansa answered dryly, “No, I’m perfectly fine with it.”
Quickly, she tried to move back from him but the Hound grasped her by the
wrist. “What’s the matter with you, little bird?” he rasped, a scowl instantly
appearing on his face.
For a moment, she was overwhelmed by a nervousness not far from fear - Sandor
Clegane could be extremely intimidating when he wanted – but then she regained
her courage and raised her stare to him. “Why did you have to be so mean to
those poor people? They would never have done us any harm and would have shared
their meat with us even without your threats!”
“How do you know?” The Hound uttered a short mirthless laugh. “The world is not
as pretty as you believe, little bird. It’s everyone for themselves and don’t
count on anyone for helping you for free. You’ve got to take your place, or
else, you’ll be eaten by the others.”
“You’re wrong! Kindness brings kindness!” she exclaimed as she freed her wrist
from his grip.
“Where do you think you’re going like this?” he growled as he unsuccessfully
reached for her arm.
“Elsewhere!” she answered as she swiftly strode toward the fire.
“Sansa!” he yelled, his voice filled with anger and incomprehension as he
followed her for some length but then stopped, watching her as she fled from
him.
When she got to the fire, all the smallfolk followed her with their eyes as she
sat among them. Did they hear anything? she wondered with concern but the
answer was obvious in the compassionate looks that the women all gave her,
especially Bert. Again, Sansa remembered with a deep blush, the kiss that the
woman had interrupted between her and the Hound earlier that afternoon. Oh,
what must she be thinking?
One of the men was busy slicing the goat when Sandor Clegane arrived a few
minutes later and all eyes were on the tall man as he sat at the opposite side
of the fire from Sansa. Looking tense, he glared at her for an instant but then
grabbed a piece of meat and gazed elsewhere.
“M’lady Sansa,” Bert suddenly whispered. “You could sleep in my hut if you’d
like, with me and my two children.”
Biting her lips nervously, Sansa had to fight against the urge that took her to
glance interrogatingly at the Hound as she had always done throughout their
travel when the time to make a choice had come.I’ll decide for myself tonight,
she decided. “Why not, Bert? It’s nice of you to offer, I’ll gladly spend the
night in your hut,” she replied loudly enough for her escort to understand.
“We’ll find a place for you as well in one of our other huts, m’lord, don’t you
worry,” one of the man hastily affirmed.
His stare boring deep into the fire, Sandor Clegane snorted derisively. “No
need for that.” Raising his stare on Sansa, he added in a low grunt, “I’ll
sleep outside the lady’s hut. I’m not leaving her unguarded.” 
He makes it sound almost like a threat, the young girl reflected, a shudder
going through her as she quickly lowered her troubled gaze to her meal.
When the goat had been consumed and dusk was truly upon them, Sansa followed
Bert to her hut. Once inside, she was pleasantly surprised by the relative
cleanliness and spaciousness of the apparently smaller habitation. There was
plenty of space for her to settle her bedroll and fur on the dirt ground floor
although there was obviously no intimacy to speak of in such a rustic lodging.
Both of Bert’s children with her late husband – a victim of the current war -
were fairly young and so they went straight to bed, falling asleep on the old
straw almost instantly.
“Is there anything I could do to help you further, m’lady?” Bert asked as she
was leaving her children’s side.
Sansa knew very well what she needed but by fearing that she would be too
demanding, she hesitated for a short instant.
With a grin, Bert insisted, “Ask anything you’d like, m’ lady. If I can, I’ll
provide.”
Smiling in response, Sansa finally answered, “Asked so nicely, it would be a
crime to refuse.” Timidly, she added. “I feel like it’s been ages since I last
had the chance to clean myself. Could you… heat some water for me?”
“Why, of course, m’lady. If you’d like, I could also clean your clothes.”
“Oh, thank you Bert,” Sansa exclaimed with immense gratitude.
“It’s my pleasure to help you, m’lady,” Bert said with a slight bow. “Stay here
while I take care of this. It shouldn’t be too long.”
“Thank you, Bert,” Sansa repeated as she watched the woman duck and push aside
the old pieces of leather that served as a door for the hut.
I can’t believe that I’ll finally be rid of all that dirt that covers me, body
and clothes! It was almost like a filthy second skin even though I am
accustomed to it by now, she mused with relief as she let herself fall lazily
over her bedroll. 
 As she was shutting her eyes and letting her body relax, Sansa suddenly heard
a low grunt from outside the hut. “Sansa,” the Hound called.
“What is it, my lord?” she asked coldly.
The man sighed loudly but surprisingly didn’t complain at being called a lord.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
Biting her lip for an instant, Sansa didn’t move from her place for about a
minute before she decided she might as well go. She couldn’t hide forever after
all. Sandor Clegane was waiting for her near the hut and as she approached him,
he moved back and led her further into the shadow of a tall tree.
“What is it, my lord?” Sansa asked once they were far enough, looking anywhere
but in his direction.
Sighing again, he muttered roughly, “Seven hells, Sansa, I already told you:
don’t call me my lord.” Pausing to stare her down resentfully, the man added,
“Anyhow, you’ve won. All you have left to do is to tell me what you want from
me.”  When he saw that she would not reply, the Hound continued. “You want an
apology, is that it? Fine then. I’m sorry.” His tone was anything but
apologetic, in fact it was almost threatening but Sansa nevertheless felt her
lips curl into a small smile.
“You’re not sorry for your terrible behavior towards those poor people! The
only thing that you regret is that I won’t talk to you anymore!” she exclaimed,
amusement overcoming her against her will.
The Hound snorted at her remark. “You got that right. I don’t give a rat’s arse
about those stinking smallfolk, but I’ll try not to mistreat them too much if
it makes you happy.”
Well, that was certainly as close as she could ever hope to get to a proper
apology from the Hound, she conceded. To be truthful, it was already a miracle
that she had gotten that close with such a coarse beast. Are my kisses really
that good that they can drive a man such as Sandor Clegane to act so far
against his nature?Sansa wondered with amazement as a satisfied smile parted
her lips.
“So, by that smile I reckon we’re good now. Am I right?” the Hound asked as he
caressed her cheek.
Sansa nodded, her smile now a broad grin. “I’d better go back to my hut before
Bert comes back,” she said softly as she abruptly fled from him again.
“As you wish, little bird,” the man rasped flatly as he watched her move away
from him.
His muscles were taut as if he was resisting an urge to follow her but he
stayed in place and when Sansa got to the hut’s door and twisted around to gaze
at him one last time, he was still deep in the shadows.
“Good night… Sandor,” she said shyly, before swiftly ducking and disappearing
into the hut, leaving him alone in the cold of the night.
 
***** Chapter 9 *****
Hello everyone! New chapter! :)
 
As always I’d like to thank everyone who takes the time to read this and
comment, as well as my beta wildsky_sheri for her constant help.
                                        
                                    Sandor
                                        
Sandor was already wide awake when the sun finally rose from its sleep. The
poxy little village in which the little bird and he had spent the night was
slowly coming alive with cooking noises and children’s cries but no sound was
coming from the girl’s hut yet. Sandor had no cause to worry though; his back
had stayed glued against the small habitation’s outer wall from dusk to dawn
and he hadn’t let anyone enter apart from the ugly wench who lived in it and
her two children. No one had so much as dared to gaze in its direction all
through the night. The girl is tired and it’s no wonder; she’s not used to
travelling that much. It wasn’t such a bad thing that they had come across this
village after all, Sandor grudgingly admitted to himself. Crummy as it may be,
it still had put a roof over the little bird’s head and filled her belly with
proper food for once. The fresh meat had been a more than welcome change for
both of them from the dry beef and stale bread that they were now sadly
accustomed to. These buggering peasants know how to hunt and poach, Sandor
mused with a hint of surprise as he shifted in his position, the hut creaking
too loudly as he did so. They’re lucky the region’s noblemen have their backs
turned on them, busy as they are with their little war.It was far from rare
that recidivist poachers would get their heads chopped off and the good lords
that ordered those executions didn’t give a shit whether they were ridding the
realm of seasoned brigands or depriving hapless children of their fathers.
Whatever the motives behind the wretched bastards’ actions, the end result
would always be the same.
 
To the little bird’s displeasure, Sandor had alerted the villagers to the risks
that they were rashly taking – he had done them a favour really, but the girl
had read his words of warning as buggering threats. Threats, he repeated to
himself in an incredulous sneer. The girl has no fucking idea what threats
sound like when coming from me,he decided, almost insulted by his charge’s lack
of acuity in that matter. Anyhow, denouncing these sorry people to Tywin
Lannister would be the apexof stupidity coming from him, given that his ancient
liege lord had perhaps already put a price on his head if word of theHound’s
desertionhad reached his ears. How will the old lion react when he hears about
this? The previously so-faithful dog, abandoning the cub and fleeing with the
wolf,Sandor wondered as amusement seeped into his usual gloom but his smirk was
quick to sour.He was not truly fleeing with the wolf. More like escorting her
back to her pack, he reflected bitterly. He had gone through all this trouble
but in the end, the outcome would be the same fucking one that the Lannisters
had planned all along: the girl would slip through his fingers and he’d have to
watch from afar as she rejoined her family and regained her life on the same
occasion. What’s left of mine though? he pondered grimly. By his recent
actions, Sandor had become an outlaw and his future was far from assured; all
he knew for certain was that he would need to disappear from the surface of
this damned continent as soon as possible.
 
This has been bloody madness all along, Sandor admitted to himself for the
hundredth time while letting a short mirthless laugh escape his mouth as he
crouched further against the hut. He’d been a fool to abandon the Lannister boy
with the thugs. In the heat of the moment, he had been blinded by the
overpowering urge to put the girl over his shoulder and flee as far as he could
from all those buggers he despised so much. He had had enough of them all –
whiny boy and bloody false righter of wrong equally. His lone goal had been to
recover what had been stolen from him and to protect his charge as he had
promised himself he would no matter the price to pay. Naught had mattered to
him in those numbed hours; the gold that he had amassed throughout the years
and left in the capital, the comfortable existence that he was leading and the
enviable status that he had merited with his hard work and devotion, he had
pissed on it all. The girl was worth much more than all of those trivialities –
that’s what he had figured just then - but Sandor had overlooked one extremely
crucial detail: Sansa Stark wasn’t his, she was only on loan. It was laughable.
For a mere loan, no matter how alluring it was, Sandor had forfeited his whole
life. Crazy buggering halfwit dog you are,he muttered to himself with building
scorn over his own senselessness. All this for the pretty eyes of a maiden who
doesn’t give a rat’s arse about you.
 
Or did she?
 
Well, he was not foolish enough to believe that the little bird truly cared for
him more than she did for a fine dress or a little pet but the level of her
interest in him didn’t truly matter in the end. The fact was that the girl was
growing increasingly more at ease in his company and generous with him,
offering him coy smiles and soft kisses as if he was a regular buggering
suitor. Sandor snorted at the absurdity of it. He would never be the one to
remind her that he was in truth the exact antitheses of a regular suitor.
Better to train with the rabid hound you’ll soon be rid of and never see again
than with the valorous knight you’ll want to impress when the time comes,Sandor
concluded sardonically. He had witnessed Cersei as she practiced her seductions
with squires when Jaime was out of town. Maidens did these things, only Sansa
had not chosen her prey very wisely since Sandor was no green boy and no one
would be there to stop him if he lost his control with her. She was like a
kitten learning to hunt with a rat twice its size, or even better, a tiny,
defenseless bird trying to overpower a vicious, hulking hound. The image was so
utterly adequate that Sandor couldn’t hold back a wry and hoarse laugh from
reverberating through his throat as he tried to picture the scene it would
make. Head thrown back with eyes shut and mouth twisted in an ugly grin, Sandor
abandoned himself to his mirth for a short instant, but then his jaw set tight
and his eyes abruptly opened as he realised how things truly stood.
 
The bird wasn’t as helpless as she appeared.  In fact, she was even doing a
pretty good job subduing the hound, judging by the way that Sandor had crawled
at her feet the previous night, begging for her pardon like the worst pitiable
bloody wreck he had ever heard of. She’ll do whatever she wants with you in the
end, dog,he realised, a pang of dread stabbing him viciously as the burned
corner of his mouth unconsciously twitched. How had he ever become so weak? It
wasn’t like him to lose his ordinarily imperturbable composure for the sake of
something so evident, predictable and common. Women’s power, he mused with
contempt as he distractedly stroked the burned side of his face with his hand.
It was humiliating and even slightly infuriating to be so like all those
bastards that he had witnessed and judged so severely over the years for
yielding to pairs of teats as if to mighty gods. Even worse, Sandor had already
almost surrendered completely to the girl but he had not even so much as
touched those damned teats! Seven hells, he was pathetic. It was plain as that.
 
Sighing in anger at himself, Sandor briskly rose from the wall of the hut and
headed toward the woods. He badly needed to get a change of air and to take a
piss; he could also go see how Stranger was faring and perhaps this short walk
would help him clear his head. The girl was safe in the hut anyway, he didn’t
need to stay at his post and guard her; for all he knew, she might not even
notice his absence.  
 
When he got to the wooden structure where Stranger was stabled, Sandor’s temper
hadn’t improved but at least he felt a little less numbed and was now eager to
leave that damned mockery of a village behind him. The dark stallion had scared
off the peasants’ mules; the stupid beasts were grouped as far as they could
get from the fierce horse who had seemingly not even noticed them. The sight
drew a smirk from Sandor; he and the stallion were much alike, he realised not
for the first time with a certain level of pride. As he strolled back to the
little bird’s hut, determined to wake her up immediately so that they might
decamp from this twice-damned shithole, Sandor got some cautious salutations
from the smallfolk to which he only grunted but when he finally reached the
girl’s hut and saw that its door was wide open, the man suddenly grew
suspicious of all these strangers.
 
“Sansa? You’re there?” he rasped, but got no answer.
 
Hastily, Sandor turned around and scanned his surroundings. His gaze fell on a
skinny woman that was busy bathing a child a few yards from where he was; he
narrowed his eyes at her and whistled for her attention.
 
 “You, there!” he then yelled at her. “Where’s the lady?”
 
“I don’t know, m’lord. I only just got out of my hut.”
 
Mouth twitching, the man cocked his head and scowled at her. I leave the girl
for a mere moment and she vanishes almost instantly.“Bugger that. Where is
she?” he hissed as he approached the woman.
 
The wench’s eyes widened in panic and she clutched her sodden toddler against
her breasts. “I’m not lying, m’lord! I truly have no clue!”
 
“She’s at the creek with Bert, m’lord!” another woman cried out from behind her
hut.
 
Without a word, Sandor gave the wenches a barely noticeable nod and stalked
away from them, striding immediately toward the stream. As he neared the water,
he heard the little bird’s soft laughter ripple through the air. At the sound,
he slowed his pace and relaxed. Pathetic dog, those smallfolk are more harmless
than the bloody goat they roasted for us yesterday. They would never do the
girl any harm, especially with the likes of you looming over their heads.
 
“Thank you again for everything, Bert,” the little bird’s voice resounded
again, this time louder as Sandor neared the creek.
 
Curiosity getting the better of him, the man became careful with his steps and
kept his eyes wide open as he noiselessly tried to find the girl’s exact
position.  It wouldn’t hurt to stay hidden for an instant and eavesdrop on her
conversation with that wench she was with, he figured. They weren’t very far;
it took him only a couple of seconds to locate them. Thick bushes separated him
from the creek but between their branches, Sandor could now discern both
women’s shapes; they were sitting side by side on a dead tree not far from the
water, their hands busily mending what appeared to be old garments.
 
“It’s nothing, m’lady,” the peasant woman was replying as Sandor pricked up his
ears. “It’s an honour to serve a daughter of Winterfell and if there is
anything else we could do to help you further…” the woman trailed off, her
voice filled with insinuation as she uttered her last words.
 
“No, I’m perfectly fine, Bert,” the little bird answered sweetly while smiling
at the wench.
 
“Are you certain, m’lady?” the woman hesitantly asked, her face suddenly taut
and serious. “That Hound you’re with,” she added in a whisper. “Does he… I saw
him yesterday with you, he-”
 
Clearly ill at ease, the girl flinched and breathed in. Her cheeks were aflame
as she hurriedly interrupted the woman, “Oh, that was nothing, Bert! I… Don’t
worry for me, I’m perfectly fine,” she insisted as she timidly lowered her gaze
to her hands.
 
“Lady Sansa, you don’t have to lie to me. We may be poor folk but we’re brave
people nonetheless and we’ll help you if need be,” the wench affirmed
insistently while settling her hands on the little bird’s in a reassuring,
motherly fashion.
 
Snorting in annoyance, Sandor pushed the branches aside and swiftly strode
toward the two women. You’d best intervene before the girl changes her mind and
decides she’d rather be rid you, he reflected as he joined them at the creek’s
bed. “The lady’s perfectly fine with me, wench,” he snapped at the woman who
jerked her head up to glance at him with consternation. “Now, bugger off, will
you?”
 
At seeing him appear so suddenly, the little bird jumped and her lips parted in
surprise but she quickly shut her mouth and frowned at him instead, obviously
displeased by his attitude.
 
Sighing, Sandor reluctantly turned his head toward the peasant woman again. “If
it pleases you, of course,” he added with poorly concealed irritation, jaw
clenching. You’re really losing it, dog.
 
With a look of concern, the wench turned her gaze on the little bird in a
wordless inquiry to which the girl replied with a tight smile and a small nod.
The woman took her time standing up, as if she didn’t believe the girl’s
response to be genuine. Impatiently, Sandor followed the woman with a glare as
she unenthusiastically left them by themselves but he was quick to lay his eyes
back on his charge when the bloody intruder was at last gone from his view. As
elegantly as if she was having tea with the queen, the little bird was demurely
sitting on the dead tree and her loose auburn hair was gleaming in the sunlight
in many shades of red and crimson. Her cheeks were flushed a beautiful shade of
pink as she shyly raised her stunning blue eyes to him and smiled.
 
It took a moment for Sandor to find his words. “They want me far from you,
little bird,” was all that came to him.
 
Timidly, the girl whispered in an apologetic tone, “Bert only wants to help
me.”
 
Grunting, Sandor considered the evidence. “Of course. Who wouldn’t?” he
acquiesced, as he stepped toward her. In a trail that his hands had longed to
follow for a very long time, the man unconsciously let his eyes rove over the
girl’s curves. Only then did he realise that instead of the grey wool dress
that he had become accustomed to, the little bird had draped her body in an old
brown roughspun gown. “Where’s your dress, Sansa? This one’s little more than a
rag,” he rasped pryingly.
 
“It’s drying on a tree, just there,” the girl replied while pointing at her
regular dress, which was hooked on a branch a few feet from them. “Bert cleaned
it for me and lent me this one instead.”
 
“Is it dry yet?” Sandor inquired roughly, his face darkening as he could
already guess the answer he would get.
 
“Of course not! She only just cleaned it,” the little bird exclaimed. Not blind
to Sandor’s building irritation, the girl lost her smile as she added in a
murmur, “We’ll have to wait here until it is.”
 
Eyes narrowed at her, Sandor hissed in disgust, “Wait here? For how long?” With
a sigh, he shook his head in a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Weren’t you
supposed to be eager to meet with your family again, little bird? We’ll never
make it in time for the exchange if we linger every time you feel like it.”
 
Her eyes wide and sad, the little bird rose from her seat. “We’ll be in time!”
she cried out. “If not, my brother and mother will surely wait for me. But
understand, please, I only have one dress, I had to clean it! Don’t be mad at
me…” she pleaded, her gaze imploring as she stared up at him while laying a
delicate hand over his upper arm.
 
In an instinctive gesture, Sandor possessively caught it between his fingers.
“I’m not mad,” he lied, as he grasped her by the waist with his free hand.
 
The little bird gave no resistance and leaned into his touch while offering him
a relieved smile. It was still fucking hard for Sandor to believe that such a
goddess would willingly let him hold her and so he tightened his grip on her
and pressed her further against him as if to make sure that she was no
illusion.
 
“I’m glad we came across this place, I also got to bathe last night,” the girl
added happily after a moment as she raised her free hand to rest against
Sandor’s torso. “Perhaps you could use this time to do the same-”
 
“Are you trying to send me a message, Sansa?” the man growled with a hint of
amusement.
 
A shred of horror instantly covered the girl’s dainty features as she heard his
assumption. “No! Of course not! I was only thinking that you might want to make
this spare time useful.”
 
Staring down at her, Sandor couldn’t hold back the sniggers that shook him as
he drunk in the sight of her delightful embarrassment. She’s not wrong, of
course. It’s a miracle she still lets me touch her with that stench that I
carry with me.They would both have to live would his stench for a bit longer
though.
 
“I’m not taking off my armour with these strangers surrounding us, nor am I
leaving you alone or unguarded. We’ll be reaching a tributary of the Red Fork
very soon; I’ll clean up then.”
 
“As you wish, Sandor,” the girl whispered while untangling herself from his
grasp and reclaiming her place on the dead tree.
 
Irked by her abrupt flight from his arms but also queerly transfixed by her
natural grace, Sandor studied the little bird for some time as she resumed her
mending. She was keeping her eyes dutifully lowered on her work but her grin
betrayed the attention that she was truly giving him. With a smirk, Sandor sat
next to her and lazily stretched his long legs in front of him, throwing his
head back to stare at the greyish sky as he did so. After a moment, he tilted
his head and gazed at the little bird, narrowing his eyes at her. “What are you
doing? Did that wench put you to work, or what?” he asked with disdain.
 
Furtively glancing at him, the girl replied in a melodious tone, “I’m helping.
It’s only natural, don’t you think?”
 
“Want to know what I truly think, little bird? I think you’re too generous…”
Sandor rasped under his breath as he snaked an arm around the little bird’s
shoulders and curled his free hand around her waist. “But I won’t complain,” he
added in her ear as he buried his face in the crook of the girl’s neck and
lightly bit the silky skin there, eliciting a barely audible moan from her.
Even in the middle of these buggering woods, she smells as sweet as she did in
King’s Landing, Sandor mused, his mind clouded by desire and his cock
stiffening dangerously as he lifted his head and went searching for her mouth.
Her plump lips were smooth and docile under his and they willingly parted as
his tongue met them. In a heartbeat he had claimed her mouth as his; if not her
body, at least she was freely giving him her lips and tongue. A throaty groan
escaped him as he left her mouth to breathe in but just as he was about to
nibble her bottom lip, the little bird gently pushed her slender hands against
his breastplate and jerked her head back.
 
“We had better stop. What if they see us?” she whispered worriedly as she
glanced around them.
 
 “So what?” Sandor replied as he jealously clasped the girl’s waist, pressing
her further against him as he went to kiss her again.
 
At the last instant, the little bird managed to avoid his lips before she
vainly tried to recoil from him but Sandor didn’t give her a chance and only
tightened his grip on her. “Please, let me go,” she finally uttered. “I’d hate
for them to catch us like that again.”
 
For a moment, Sandor didn’t react and only glared down at her but then he
reluctantly loosened his hold and freed her. See how she controls you, dog?
Soon, she’ll have you jumping and sitting on cue,he thought, angry at himself
for letting her go when she had obviously enjoyed herself before she remembered
those stinking peasants. Would she truly have minded if he had kept her in his
arms by force? He doubted it. I’d best get used to losing her though; soon
she’ll be fleeing from me forever,he thought with a pang of apprehension.
 
Although… what if he didn’t bring her back to her family? Deep in the wild as
they were, the girl would never notice if they switched direction and headed
toward Saltpans instead. From there, they could board a ship for the free
cities and the little bird might even believe him if he told her that it was
heading for Riverrun. She wouldn’t know until it was too bloody late and then
she’d have no choice but to accept being his completely.
 
His heart suddenly beating faster, Sandor considered this new tempting plan for
a few minutes but his hopes quickly dissolved as he discerned its primary flaw.
He wanted the girl and had desired her for longer than he dared say, that was
true enough but if he had ever had any design of forcing himself on her, he
could have done it a hundred times since they stepped out on the road together
and she’d have had no chance against him. Not a soul would have heard her cries
for help, deep in the woods as they would’ve been at that moment. Gods, he
could have easily taken her maidenhead against her will back in King’s Landing
and he wagered the poor girl would have kept their shameful, dirty little
secret to herself. No, what he was so eager to steal and claim for himself
wasn’t only the little bird’s physique but also the smiles that she was giving
him so plentifully as of late. He yearned to keep her exactly as she had acted
with him for the last couple of days, not as she would become once she’d be his
captive for real and he her tormentor. He could never bear to see her cry, to
discern hate in her eyes as she looked at him and he couldn’t rape her either.
Or could he?  It would be tempting to take her by force after she refused him,
of course, but once the deed was done he’d have killed everything that
attracted him to her and put out for good the dim spark of respect that he
still had for himself.
 
No, he couldn’t abduct her; there would be naught to gain from it apart from
more misery to bear on his shoulders. In the end, Sandor had to concede to
himself that he had but one viable option; to lead the little bird back to her
family and afterward, to cross the narrow sea and start a new life in the free
cities. There was no denying though, that he would come off that ship a changed
man, and not for the better. He could feel it already, deep in his core - that
damned void that bloody Sansa Stark was slowly creating in him, that empty,
dark hole that she would leave behind once she’d rejoined her kin. She would
leave him dried out from the inside and burning with unfulfilled lust, lost in
emptiness for the rest of eternity and there was naught to do about that fate.
What am I thinking again? Lost in emptiness? For the rest of eternity? This is
beyond ridiculous. Dog, you’ve reached a new peak, a desolating, pathetic new
peak,he reflected wryly as a humourless laugh uncontrollably escaped him. At
the sound, the girl raised her gaze from her work and turned curious eyes on
him.
 
“What are you laughing at, Sandor?” she asked softly.
 
“Nothing, little bird, nothing at all,” he whispered as he lifted a heavy hand
and caressed the girl’s jaw with his knuckle.
 
He had never been more truthful, he realised. He was veritably laughing at
nothing, at the nothingness that she would leave behind when she flew away from
him. The thought made him snigger even harder and the little bird obliviously
joined him in his mirth, and although her laughter was genuine and devoid of
any trace of nastiness, Sandor couldn’t help but feel as if she was truly
mocking him and laughing in advance at the pitiable state in which she would
soon abandon him.
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey everyone!
     I know! It’s been sooo long since I last updated but I have the best
     excuse since I’ve been in Scotland for an almost 2 weeks trip and
     only came back a week ago.
     By the way if anyone wants to know, the trip has been wonderful!
     *grins*
     As always, I’d like to thank everyone for reading and commenting.
     Also, special thanks to wildsky_sheri for her help with this!
                                     Sansa
 
 
“Finally,” Sansa breathed to herself when she clutched her dress and felt the
long-hoped-for dry wool against her fingers. All set and ready to go and it’s
not even midday! she mused happily, her eyes set in a squint while she glanced
gratefully toward the sun.
 
Earlier that morning, worry that she and Sandor would need to postpone their
departure as the latter had kept repeating since daybreak had filled her mind
but the gods had answered her prayers and proved him wrong. Indeed barely two
hours ago, a swift and unexpected blast had chased away the thick grey clouds
that had hovered overhead since dawn and revealed a striking blue sky instead.
Under the warm sunbeams, Sansa’s old gown had dried faster than she would have
believed possible and there was now naught left to do but for her to change
before they left the village. Although she was thankful for the peasants’
generosity, Sansa had no real desire to linger in these woods - she was as
eager as Sandor to put this valley behind her and thus she lost no time
grabbing her dress and hurried immediately to Bert’s hut.
 
“I’ll help you with your gown,” the woman cried out as she followed in Sansa’s
steps. Once inside the hut, Bert’s true motivation was quick to show through.
In fact the woman didn’t even bother with subtlety and went straight to the
point. “It’s not too late, m’lady. I told you this morning: we can help you,”
she insisted in a whisper, her hands busy lacing the back of Sansa’s dress.
 
“Don’t worry for me, Bert. I’m perfectly fine. Sandor Clegane is bringing me
back to my family and with no one else would I feel as safe as with him,” Sansa
retorted - perhaps a little too stiffly, she realised - as she forced herself
to smile.
 
Bert’s hands tensed against Sansa’s back as she heard the young girl’s words.
The woman was obviously not convinced.
 
“A maiden shouldn’t be left alone with such a man,” she asserted severely while
she fastened the ends of the laces with a bit more strength than was truly
necessary.
 
There was no use in trying to explain her situation further, Sansa pondered,
and so as soon as all the laces of her gown were properly fixed, she kissed the
woman’s cheek and flew away from her. Clearly, Bert had deduced that the
embrace she had interrupted the previous day had been forced on Sansa but
really, who could blame her for mistaking? Barely a moon ago, I undoubtedly
would have believed the same had I seen another young maiden nestled in the
Hound’s arms, she reflected pensively. Who wouldn’t have believed so in truth?
Even Sansa herself was at a loss when she tried to grasp what could possibly
draw her to Sandor Clegane. He was a coarse brute, a killer with terrible
manners and on the top of all that, his face was burned in the most terrifying
fashion. None of those traits should ever logically appeal to her… but logic
apparently had no power where emotion was concerned. While her mind kept
insisting anytime they were apart that she should be repulsed by the man, an
unknown and mighty force that took root deep inside her propelled her toward
him the minute he was in her sight. How can one’s self be so divided? she
wondered, adrift in a sea of her own conflicting feelings.
 
The question still hung unanswered in the back of her mind when Sansa reached
the edge of the forest where the Hound had told her to join him. Dark and
imposing, the man stood next to Stranger, a bored scowl twisting his face while
he ignored the villagers that nervously bade him farewell. As if she was a
magnet to his steely eyes, Sandor jerked his head and glanced at Sansa as soon
as she stepped into view, his features softening a bit when he recognised her.
 
“You’re ready?” he asked as he unceremoniously made his way through the
smallfolk that stood between them.
 
Blushing, Sansa nodded, a shy smile uncontrollably curling her lips. His mere
presence was enough to disconcert her, she realised again. Menacing as the
Hound could appear, she had always been timid in his presence but this new
nervousness that shook her core was as utterly different as it was peculiarly…
pleasant. Even intoxicating, like a good wine, she decided as she distractedly
settled a delicate hand over the fluttering that assailed her belly.
 
“Let’s go then,” the tall man rasped as he pressed his palm over Sansa’s
shoulder blade and turned around to guide her.
 
As they walked to the horse, the smallfolk all gave way for them, deferentially
bowing while giving Sansa their best wishes. The young girl smiled back at them
and had not yet finished thanking them for their hospitality when, without
warning, Sandor grabbed her by the waist and lifted her from the ground. Her
eyes grew wide and she lost her composure for an instant but Sansa quickly
regained her smile and started waving at the group of peasants while Sandor
jumped on the stallion behind her.
 
“My thanks to all of you once again! I’ll pray for your well-being when I next
visit a sept and put in a word on your behalf to my family,” Sansa promised as
Stranger began to move.
 
A look of concern on her face, Bert appeared right in the middle of the group
of peasants just then. Sansa smiled at the woman and was about to lift her hand
to salute her when Sandor kicked his stallion with his heels, the beast
abruptly turning around and hastening away from the villagers. Head turned
backward, Sansa watched as their shapes grew smaller and smaller, until they
had vanished completely from her view. I’ll never see them again, she
reflected, not truly moved by the observation; they would only become memories
to join with the mist of a thousand others.
 
In a comfortable silence, they rode down a regular slope for a couple of hours,
sometimes needing to zigzag when it became too abrupt. The scenery was changing
rapidly and Sansa had no doubt that at the pace they were travelling, they
would soon reach the valley Sandor had mentioned earlier. Down the hill, a
tributary of the Red Fork runs. We’re truly nearing the Riverlands,she
realised, not quite as happily as she would have expected. Shaking her head to
dismiss the unsettling thought, Sansa peered at the pure blue sky above her and
breathed in. Warm and caressing, the sun was more reminiscent of summer than
autumn – really, it was a glorious day to be on the road and thus Sansa decided
that there was no reason to let anything preoccupy her. Lazily, she leaned
against her companion’s breastplate and shut her eyes. Between the warmth of
the sunbeams that glowed over her face and the reassuring solidity of the man
behind her, she felt as if no ill could ever prevail against her. She couldn’t
hold back her wide grin when after a few minutes of contentment, she twisted in
the saddle and glanced up at Sandor.  The man immediately lowered his eyes to
her and Sansa distractedly let herself get lost in them. They were dark, strong
and rough, something harsh and intractable shining in them. She couldn’t help
but wonder what they had witnessed over the years, how they perceived the
world… how they saw her. Always, they seemed to desperately search for her as
if she was all they cared to see and Sansa felt as if she would never tire of
the insistent attention they were giving her.
 
Sighing, she twisted back but leaned even further into Sandor while clasping
one of the arms that flanked her in a loose and dreamy embrace. Tenderly, she
rested her head against the thick arm she held while gazing at her companion’s
hands as he transferred both reins into one. The newly freed hand then
gradually - almost hesitantly - made its way to her before curling over her
stomach in a slow caress. The gesture was so intimate, soft and strong at the
same time that Sansa instantly felt as if a legion of butterflies had filled
her belly. She bit her lip, overwhelmed by the unanticipated sensation and let
a hand fall from the arm she was holding, laying it over the hand that stroked
her instead. Carefully, she brushed her fingers over his before resting her
palm over his knuckles.
 
“Little bird,” Sandor muttered hoarsely as he tightened his grip on her. She
could feel his gaze boring into her and his breath in her hair.
 
Never in her life had Sansa felt so lighthearted and giddy at the same time, it
was a strange mix of feelings, delightful and confusing in equal parts.
Nevertheless, she let her instincts take charge and arched against her cohort,
throwing her head back as she shut her eyes in abandon. She might have stayed
like that forever if Sandor’s warm hand hadn’t suddenly slid away from her.
Puzzled, Sansa turned around and inquisitively glanced up at him.
 
“I’m losing my focus, little bird,” he said in a soft but flat rasp while
raising his gaze to the horizon. “I’ve got to keep my attention on the land
before us or else we’ll end up down a buggering precipice or something,” he
explained, the unburned corner of his mouth curling into something akin to a
half-smile.
 
Slightly disappointed, Sansa nonetheless found his argument valid and nodded.
It wouldn’t do to die so stupidly and they could always kiss and enjoy each
other’s touch later. Resigned, she moved forward in the saddle but she quickly
missed Sandor’s warmth. As discreetly as she could, she slowly propped her body
against his torso, hoping that as careful as she had been, her touch would pass
unnoticed against the roughness of his amour and that he therefore wouldn’t
realise she was resting against him once again.
 
****
 
It’s so pretty, Sansa reflected as she admired the light gleaming over the
large river they were approaching. The mountains were definitely behind them
now, although the shadowy blue shape of a smaller range of hills was visible in
the distant horizon before them.
 
“The water of this river comes from the mountains we’ve crossed. Eventually,
it’ll join the Red Fork,” Sandor was explaining to Sansa. “I’d wager it’s
almost as cold as the bloody glacier it used to be, especially in this season,”
he added with a certain level of derision as Stranger began stepping into the
crystalline water.
 
The stallion didn’t appear to mind the cold however and they entered the river
with no difficulty. The level of the water was not very high for it was autumn;
it barely touched the tips of Sansa’s feet in its deepest part and for that the
young girl was grateful. Once they reached the other bank, Sandor jumped from
Stranger’s back and helped her down.
 
“I hope you won’t mind if we halt here an hour or two so that I can clean up a
little. As soon as I’m done though, we’ll continue and ride until it’s pitch
dark. We’ve lost enough time already,” the man rasped nonchalantly as he freed
his horse from its saddle.
 
Biting her lip, Sansa glanced around her in disappointment. Before Sandor had
spoken, she had hoped that they might make camp next to the river bed. The
place was beautiful with the long herbs and thick moss that covered its soil;
even tall daisies of yellow and white thrived not far from the bank. Flowers in
autumn? Sansa thought with amazement. “I’d prefer if we stayed here for the
night,” she admitted after a moment. “I could lay my bedroll on the moss and
sleep more comfortably than last night,” she continued with enthusiasm while
approaching Sandor. “Oh, and I could also braid a crown with the flowers
there,” she added in a soft whisper, blushing at her own childishness while
pointing at the daisies.
 
Sandor snorted in surprise when he heard her intention and gave her a puzzled,
amused look but then he narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion, features
hardening. “Let me get this straight, girl. You want to delay that buggering
exchange you’ve been waiting for ever since the day your father was killed,
only to braid a stupid crown of flowers?” he asked with a mix of irritation and
scepticism as he closed the gap that remained between them.
 
At the mention of her father, Sansa tensed slightly and lowered her eyes but
she replied nonetheless. “Not just for that.  As I told you, I’d like to sleep
on the moss… and also…” she let the words hang, not knowing exactly what else
she wanted herself. “My mother and brother will wait for us,” she finally
pleaded after an instant as she gazed up at Sandor. “Please, let’s stay here
for the night.”
 
Mouth twitching slightly, the man studied Sansa at length for a time, as if by
assimilating every detail of her physique he could figure out her thoughts. A
minute passed, silent and awkward but then he shook his head incredulously. “As
you say, little bird,” he grunted as he turned around and strolled toward the
edge of the forest. There, he found an oak tree and hooked his cloak over one
of its branches. “We’ll stay here for the night if that’s what you want,” he
said without enthusiasm as he returned to Sansa.
 
“Thank you, Sandor,” she murmured before getting on tiptoe and kissing his jaw.
 
With a sigh, the man raised his hands and settled both of them over her
shoulders. Wordlessly, he gazed down at her as if she was the weirdest creature
he had ever come across throughout his whole life but then he relaxed and a
hint of a smile curled his lips. Slowly he raised one of his hands and caressed
Sansa’s hair.
 
“I’ll go bathe while the sun’s still warm. Do you mind waiting here on your
own?” Sandor muttered, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
 
Shaking her head, Sansa lifted her hand and distractedly followed the joints of
his breastplate with the tips of her fingers. “I could help you take off your
armour if you’d like,” she said without thinking.
 
Instantly, Sandor took a step back and stared at her with an expression of
mirth and shock all at once. “You would take off my armour,” he stated more
than he asked before he snorted a brief, hoarse laugh. “What would that bloody
septa of yours have thought of that, I wonder?” A mocking grin twisted his face
as he uttered his last sentence.
 
Flushed, Sansa lowered embarrassed eyes to her hands. “I only wanted to help
you… I didn’t think-”
 
“Of course you didn’t,” Sandor cut her off before barking another short, rough
laugh.
Smirking, he lifted her chin with his fingers and his eyes bore into hers.
“I’ve half a mind to let you do it. Only if I did, you’d most likely faint from
the stench that’ll come out of that damned armour,” he sneered, voice husky and
low, before heading away from her toward the oak tree where his cloak was
hooked. “I’ll do it myself,” he stated as he reached for a buckle over his
shoulder.
 
One by one, the Hound undid all of the straps that tied the steel plates to his
body, the large pieces falling rhythmically to the ground in a metallic
cacophony as he did so. The tunic he wore underneath was so stained with dirt
and sweat that it clung to his torso like a second skin and although Sansa knew
she should’ve been repulsed by the filthy sigh he offered, she found she was
strangely intrigued and fascinated instead.  He’s so muscled, she noted, albeit
it was far from the first occasion she’d seen him without armour. She wondered
for an instant why her eyes should be drawn so much to something she had
previously seen dozens of times and never gave a second thought to. Perhaps it
was because she now had the possibility, if the desire took her, to let her
hands wander over the man’s massive chest, arms and even down his sculpted
stomach. Why would I want to do such things?she thought to herself, appalled as
she suddenly regained her composure and stared elsewhere.
 
“I’m leaving you but I won’t take long,” she heard him rasp after some time.
 
Alerted by his voice, Sansa turned her gaze on him again. He was standing only
a few yards from her - waiting for an answer - and she had to use all of her
willpower not to stare again. At a loss for words, she only gave him a shy nod.
 
Once he had disappeared behind a layer of trees, Sansa strolled toward the
river. It was nice to have some free time for once, she decided. She should use
it to relax and let her head void itself of anything but it was impossible for
her mind kept going back to Sandor Clegane and the way her life and heart had
both been turned upside down for the last few days. Does he think the same of
me? she wondered curiously while nearing the river.
 
The water was pure and calm, so still that by bowing her head and peering down,
Sansa could discern her reflection almost as clearly as in any regular glass.
She smiled at herself, pleased with the image she was getting.
 
His name came to her again. “Sandor,” she whispered softly as she rose.
 
He loves me… I think. That’s why I kissed him. For a second, she grinned at the
memory but then a sigh escaped her lips. She would never know for sure if the
Hound loved her for he was not a man to share his feelings. He’d never tell
her. Her heart ached almost painfully at the thought and she was taken aback by
the violence of her reaction. Why should I care? It’s not like he was to be my
husband. He’s only my escort and very soon we’ll be parting anyway,she
ineffectively tried to reason with herself.
 
The pang that throbbed in her chest was nothing she cared to linger upon and
thus Sansa tried to take her mind from anything that could trouble her further.
She had no reason to be unhappy at that very moment, she decided. Her
surroundings were beautiful and the sun was so warm. Even hot, she realised as
she took off her cloak and settled it over a large boulder. Stretching, she sat
over it and gazed at the river. Is it really as cold as Sandor said it was?
There was only one way of finding out, she concluded with a sudden wolfish
smile as she hurriedly unlaced her boots and removed her long woollen
stockings. Timidly, she stepped toward the river, careful not to hurt her feet
over the pebbles. She stopped only when her toes were almost touching the water
and breathed in as nervously as if she was about to face a life-threatening
danger. Then, as abruptly as she could, she jumped with both feet into the
stream with a scream of both horror and delight. The water was beyond freezing;
Sansa could have sworn it was liquid ice that flowed around her ankles. Wasting
no time, she stepped out of the river only to realise that the hem of her dress
was now all soaked but she only giggled at her own foolishness. Revived and
energised by the shock she had just been through, Sansa began strolling about
happily with no purpose until she got a glimpse of something colourful out of
the corner of her eye.
 
“Oh, the daisies!”she exclaimed to herself as she glanced at the flowers.I had
almost forgotten about them, the young girl mused as she hurried toward them,
losing no time picking the prettiest ones.
 
In a matter of minutes, her crown was braided and Sansa quickly installed it
over her head, a wide grin curving her lips. Here in this uninhabited valley, I
could be the Queen,she decided.I would reign over plants and beasts equally and
treat them justly, as any true ruler should.The silliness of her thoughts made
her giggle again. If she were queen in this vale, would the Hound be her king?
The idea was plain ridiculous and so she laughed heartily.Will he find me
beautiful with flowers in my hair? she wondered, although she could easily
guess the answer. One last daisy in her hand, Sansa absent-mindedly gazed at it
for a time until of their own accord, her fingers began removing the flower’s
petals.
 
The litany came to her almost instinctively. “He loves me,” she softly
whispered, watching the first petal whirl down. “He loves me not. He loves me.
He loves me not,” she continued, pausing between each petal, watching as they
lightly touched the ground. “He loves me…” she breathed one last time before
she heard the creaks of crushed branches from behind her. Gasping, she turned
around and let the flower fall from her hand.
 
“What are you doing?” Sandor asked from where he stood, at least thirty feet
from her.
 
“Nothing,” she replied, a blush creeping over her cheeks.
 
The Hound’s hair was wet and plastered over his head and cheeks and droplets of
water still rolled down his neck, finding their way through the dark hair of
his chest where the clean but partly sodden tunic he wore was open. For one
short moment, Sansa was rooted in place.
 
“I heard you scream. What happened?” he rasped as he slowly walked in her
direction.
 
“I… I wanted to try the water.  It’s freezing,” she explained. “See how I
soaked my dress?” she asked as she slightly lifted her skirts to show him the
sodden hem.
 
Sandor’s eyes lowered to the hem of her gown but then, Sansa realised that he
was in truth peering at her feet and ankles. The view seemed to light something
in him for his eyes gleamed.
 
“It is freezing,” he acquiesced. “I could warm you.” The man’s voice was low
and hungry.
 
“Warm me?” Sansa repeated as she took a nervous step back.
 
“Aye. Warm you. Would you like that?” he growled.
 
“Oh, I don’t know…” she muttered as she stepped back further, an exciting
fright starting to take her over.
 
Grinning in an almost threatening manner, Sandor began to stride toward her and
Sansa’s heart immediately jumped into her throat. She squeaked as she turned
around and began running. Her pursuer was faster than her though; she knew it
for she could hear him as he quickened his pace and came nearer and nearer. She
was fleeing as if her life depended on it, as if she would be eaten alive once
she was caught and the knowledge that he would soon catch up with her was both
bloodcurdling and thrilling.
 
Inevitably, Sandor’s strong fingers soon grasped her arm and encircled it.
Sansa screamed and tried to struggle free from his grip but he easily
immobilised her and threw her onto the moss at his feet.
 
“You can’t flee from me, Sansa,” he hissed as he got down on his knees.
 
In no time, his body was almost entirely covering hers as he pinned her
helplessly to the ground. He was so strong and heavy, she could never fight him
but she absurdly tried anyway, enjoying the sensation of being dominated so
completely by such a powerful man.
 
Ultimately, she stilled, breathless and let Sandor slide a hand up her waist.
Slowly, firmly, he raised it to her ribs in a possessive massage and stroked
her as if he had never longed to touch anything more than her body. At once
defenceless and exhilarated, Sansa shut her eyes and arched into him. His
breath was warm against her neck and hair as he bit and licked her throat.
 
“Sandor,” she managed to moan just before he kissed her with the passion and
despair of a dying man.
 
“Oh, Sansa,” he panted as he left her mouth. “I want you.”
 
It was then that she felt it. Solid and omnipresent as soon as she realised
what it was; his need against her thigh. Her eyes abruptly opened but she
couldn’t utter a sound as overwhelmed as she was at that moment.
 
Oblivious, the man was nibbling at her ear. “You’re still my prisoner, little
bird. You know that? I could do whatever I want with you…” he whispered in a
fit of passion as he grabbed one of her breasts.
 
Yelping, Sansa began squirming but Sandor overpowered her and only pressed his
manhood further against her thigh and hip; she could sense almost every detail
of its massive shape as it rubbed against her. 
 
 “Sandor! Please…” Sansa finally managed to cry out as she wriggled in a vain
attempt to free herself from his hold.
 
The fear that was building in her must have been evident for the man loosened
his grip and backed away from her slightly. “I’d best stop,” he panted, eyes
still wild. “Or else, I’ll take that song from you.”
 
For the breadth of a second, confusion took Sansa over. Take that song? What
song?
 
Steadily, Sandor got on his knees and began studying her, his head tilted
slightly. After an awkward pause, he laughed wryly and added, “Don’t tell me
you don’t yet understand what I meant…”
 
Baffled, Sansa got on her elbows. Oh…she mused as she finally realised the
scale of her innocence.
 
The man stood, his manhood still evidently stiff in his breeches. “I’m… sorry,
Sansa,” he rasped, ill at ease but smirking as he looked elsewhere and stalked
into the woods.
 
He left her alone and bewildered, not certain of what she should be thinking.
Though she was horrified by his actions and the nuance that he had implied all
along without her even grasping it, Sansa felt alone and unfulfilled,
frustrated by the lack of him. Her core was burning with a need that she didn’t
totally understand. I’m so naïve, so stupid! Of course he would want to… do
these things,she sighed, exasperated with herself. How could she not have
foreseen this?
 
Unenthusiastically, she got up, smoothed her skirts and repaired her hair.
Looking behind her, she noticed that her crown of daisies had been crushed
beneath her. Same as my naivety, she observed bitterly.
 
She headed toward the river and sat on the boulder where she had laid her cloak
earlier. The sun was setting in the west and the view was beautiful of course,
but she felt sad and heavy. She let her mind wander without any purpose for
some time until she heard splashing sounds nearby. Curious, she jerked her head
and saw a small boat on the river moving slowly toward her. Two men were aboard
and were peering at her with interest. Their attention sent a shiver down
Sansa’s spine and she tensed at seeing their faces light up with undeniable
pleasure when they were close enough to make her out completely. 
 
“Who are you?” one of them inquired with a yell as they both swiftly used their
oars to get the boat to rest over the pebbles of the bank.
 
Alarmed, Sansa stood up and began striding away.
 
“Hey! Don’t go!” the other man ordered as he jumped from the boat.
 
For the second time that day, Sansa had to run although this flight was nothing
like the game she and Sandor had played mere moments earlier. She ran as fast
as she could manage but Sansa’s bare feet kept catching in the long herbs that
covered the ground and therefore her pursuer caught her by the wrist as quickly
as the Hound had captured her minutes before.
 
“What’s a lovely young lady like you doing in the wild all alone?” the man
asked as he immobilized his prey with the help of his friend.
 
“I’m not alone! Let me go, or else, Sandor will kill you!” Sansa cried out with
force, squirming and kicking desperately as she did so.
 
“Who’s Sandor?” one of the men replied, unimpressed.
 
“My protector!” Sansa warned him loudly. “Sandor! SANDOR!” she screamed at the
top of her lungs as she struggled against their grips.
 
She was unsurprisingly no match against two grown men; they grinned, pleased at
the prospect of the feast that awaited them while they began laying her on the
ground. Just as she was starting to lose hope, Sansa heard steps coming fast
from behind her. The men noticed them too but only had time to loosen their
hold on her before their fate was sealed. Unbalanced, Sansa fell on her
backside and gasped as she saw a sword thrust through one of the men’s throats.
She rapidly rolled onto her side and barely managed to avoid his body as it
fell lifeless on the soil. Now flat on her front, Sansa watched as the other
man tried to flee, screaming. Thankfully, she managed to bring both her hands
over her eyes as she glimpsed the Hound’s sword coming down on her attacker and
only heard the sound of her protector’s blade as it sliced the man nearly in
half.
 
All of a sudden, the forest was quiet again; not even the birds seemed to sing
anymore, only the Hound’s loud breathing could be heard. Still in a state of
shock, Sansa was unable to move for a long time and kept her hands firmly
pressed over her face but after a few minutes, she slowly lowered them and
looked warily around her. The bloody mess that surrounded her was horrifying
and as she raised her gaze to the Hound, she realised that he was almost as
covered with blood as the bodies at his feet. He was looking down at her, face
stained with red droplets, chest heaving up and down rapidly. His eyes were
still wide. Without haste, Sansa clumsily stood up, her gaze never leaving his.
Their eyes were locked as she slowly approached him but she halted when she was
a step away from him. Sandor still held his sword in one of his hands; its
scarlet, sticky end was buried in the ground next to him. Sansa looked him up
and down as if she was seeing him for the first time and truly, she was. For
the first time, she didn’t see the flaws in the man before her; his scars, his
rudeness, all that was gone. Even his previous horrible behaviour toward her
was now totally forgotten. No, at that moment, she only saw the saviour, the
protector that he was and had always been for her. My knight, she mused, my
knight in shining armour.
 
And then, she threw her arms around his neck, jumped up and kissed him
passionately.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                     Sansa
                                        
As soon as their lips parted from the long and passionate kiss they shared,
Sandor began to release Sansa from his embrace. The solid ground was shortly
under her feet; with a pang, she let the tall man gently push her aside.
 
“Careful, little bird. That blade is sharp enough to cut one of your fine hairs
in two,” he warned while nodding at the bloodied sword he held.
 
The sight of the previously forgotten weapon and the gore that still covered it
sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine. Not accustomed to beholding such violence as
she had moments before, the young girl was instinctively repelled by the
remembrance of the bloodshed it had engendered. Without thinking, she moved
back even further from Sandor only to bump into one of the corpses of her
attackers. Yelping, she staggered, eyes wide with terror when she realized what
she had stumbled upon but she rapidly took a step forward and jerked her head
away from the dead man to look at the Hound instead. His face and tunic were
splattered with scarlet droplets. This slaughter may be abhorrent but Sandor
wasn’t the one to initiate it. He has done it to save me,she reasoned in an
attempt to soothe her strained nerves. The Hound had indeed killed both men for
her sake and no one, if told of the tale of their assault, could argue that
they hadn’t deserved their fate. Still, that such ugliness could result from an
act of justice and bravery was hard to grasp. What I have witnessed is never
mentioned in the songs, but it is part of the stories nonetheless,Sansa
suddenly realized.Emboldened by this new insight, she forced her gaze to wander
over the pitiful pieces of flesh that were left of her attackers. The view was
far from pretty but as she let her eyes rove, a revelation abruptly shook her.
Every crimson slash that covered the corpses’ skin was a declaration. Sandor
Clegane may never tell her that he loved her, yet this was his way of showing
the devotion and passion he felt for her. Sansa smiled at the idea. Never would
she have envisioned that, in the blink of an eye, something so horrid could
become utterly charming.
 
A scowl twisting his face, the Hound was crouched over the body that lay nearer
to him when Sansa returned her attention to him. Carelessly, he wiped his sword
against the tunic it wore, the weapon’s dark steel shining almost blindingly
under the dying sunbeams for a brief instant. Alert as a dog on the hunt trying
to get the scent of his prey, Sandor then stood up, back braced and eyes
narrowed while sheathing his sword at his hip. Warily, he peered around him for
a few instants until he eyed the mess that was left of the things Sansa had
settled on the boulder earlier. A heartbeat later, both her cloak and stockings
were thrown over Sandor’s elbow and her boots grabbed one-handed before the man
turned around and returned to her hastily. Wordlessly, he leaned down and
circled his free arm around Sansa’s upper thighs just below her bottom. Her own
arms instinctively snaked around his neck as he lifted her from the ground and
began striding toward Stranger. Absorbed by the masculinity of his scent, Sansa
kept her head down, nose nestled in the crook of Sandor’s neck while he carried
her like a child.
 
“Here, girl,” the man whispered as he handed her clothing and boots to her once
she was back on her feet. “Put this on again. We had best flee this damned
place, at once. Who knows if a fucking garrison of those bastards is coming
down the river just now?”
 
Nodding, Sansa obeyed without delay, starting by draping her cloak over her
shoulders while Sandor saddled Stranger. She almost fell trying to slide her
foot inside its stocking but quickly regained her balance and had just begun
stretching the woolen cloth up to her knee when she felt the Hound’s stare on
her leg and froze. Noticing her unease, the man grunted and immediately avoided
his eyes before resuming fitting his armour into the saddlebag. Cheeks flushed,
Sansa managed to hide the shy smile that uncontrollably stretched her lips as
she donned her other stocking and put on her boots. Once they were both laced,
she gladly let Sandor grab her waist and settle her over Stranger’s back.
 
“Let’s go,” he rasped as he jumped behind her and kicked the horse with his
heels.
 
They rode through the woods for an unknown period of time; the world around
Sansa was too blurry and dreamlike for her to distinguish the passing minutes.
Eyes closed, she let her mind wander while she leaned comfortably against
Sandor. Naught mattered to her at that moment but the feel of his unarmored
body behind her and the pleasant tickle that the touch of his massive muscles
sent all over her sensitive skin. The horror of the bloodied scene they had
left now seemed as far away as King’s Landing to Sansa and only the positive
outcomes of the attack remained in her thoughts. He saved me… again,she kept
marveling as she pressed the side of her head further into his chest. She
couldn’t say how many times he had rescued her previously, however she knew for
a fact that she couldn’t count the occasions on the fingers of a single hand.
And he will save me once more if harm ever comes to me again. He’d probably
even be willing to die for her, she reflected in awe. Sandor Clegane was truly
her protector, the devoted knight she had always dreamed of - although he would
never admit the latter. There was something overly romantic about it all. Like
the heroines of the songs she had always loved so much, Sansa had the strongest
man in the realm at her service, ready to sacrifice everything he had ever
possessed and desiring only to be at her side. She sighed deeply, dizzy from
the intensity of the dream that was taking root in her life. The gods were
truly good and had sent her the knight she had prayed for so often during the
sleepless nights of her confinement.
 
And there was another similarity Sansa shared with Queen Naerys, Jonquil and
the like, the young girl realized, heart pounding. Forbidden love.Love?! she
almost gasped aloud, eyes momentarily wide open. Is that truly what I now feel
for him? The answer to the question was plain as the night that had recently
fallen over the forest. The revelation was beyond shocking but Sansa was even
more disconcerted to notice that she didn’t feel so torn apart about her
feelings towards the Hound anymore. The internal battle that had previously
divided her so had ceased, ceding to soothing peace and harmony instead. Her
heart had won the fight over her mind, which conceded the victory cheerfully,
and all Sansa desired was to forget about every barrier that normally should’ve
kept her from the man she loved, to be in his arms forever.
 
It was then that reality finally struck her, cold and cruel as a dagger thrust
in one’s back. Sandor and I will soon have to part,she remembered, eyes wide
with dread. How was she ever going to be safe if the man that was meant to
protect her was forced to abandon her? How would her heart keep on beating
without his presence, looks and touches to precipitate its rhythm? Breathing
in, Sansa tried to calm herself from the panic that was threatening to possess
her. She would have to find a way to convince her mother to accept the Hound as
her shield. It would be arduous to be sure, but anything was possible with
enough determination and the right arguments, she decided. As King Joffrey’s
former sworn shield, Sandor Clegane’s reliability as a protector had been
proven on many occasions. He had fought many a war, won various battles and his
mastery of the warrior arts was renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms… but
that would never convince her mother. She would hate him and wish him gone the
minute she saw him arrive. Oh, she would never contradict the efficiency of
having such a protector for one’s daughter, of course, but could she forget the
fact that he had been in the Lannisters’ service for even longer than Sansa had
been in this world? Could she overlook his reputation and looks, and
especially, would she believe him when he announced that he had turned his
cloak and was now planning to pledge his life to the Northern King?
 
Never.
 
I’ll figure out a way to make her see. She might not believe the Hound, but
she’ll trust the word of her own daughter. I’ll tell her how he saved me from
many dangers and more, how he risked dying on my behalf continuously since our
lives collided… I’ll sing his praises so perfectly that she’ll relent and
permit him to stay with me and then, we’ll never need to part. He’ll become my
shadow…Sansa had never desired anything more; surely the gods would listen and
grant her only wish or else, why give her the knight she had prayed for only to
take him away so soon? The gods won’t tear us apart, I know they won’t. They’ll
guide my mother and help me convince her to keep Sandor as my guard.She had to
have faith in the gods and believe that her mother would yield to her request,
for there was really nothing else she might do to aid her cause.
 
“I think this place will do for the night,” the Hound stated suddenly, his
rasping voice cutting though the silence that had enveloped them since they had
fled the banks of the river.
 
Missing his warmth as soon as he had jumped from his place behind her, Sansa
followed Sandor with her stare as he stalked around the clearing to make sure
no hidden dangers awaited them. When he was confident the glade was safe, he
came back to her and curved his strong hands around her waist. Their gazes
locked; Sansa was melting into him as he began to bring her down. On reflex,
she circled his broad neck and shoulders with her thin but determined arms,
preventing him from settling her onto the ground. His scarred features were
unreadable as she pressed her open lips against his but Sandor didn’t fight
against her kiss and let her tongue enter his mouth. His mouth was warm and
comforting, his body robust as an oak beneath hers.
 
“We need to set up camp, Sansa,” he grunted in an unconvincing tone as he let
her go.
 
She nodded, peering at their surroundings although she couldn’t make out much
through the growing darkness. Absent-minded as she had been while they had
fled, Sansa felt as if she had just materialized in these woods and the route
they had followed had never existed. Their regular routine was quickly over and
done; Sansa’s bedroll was flat on the forest floor, ready to be slept over and
Stranger was fed and freed from his saddle. Sandor had lit a small fire and he
and Sansa had eaten a light meal of dried meat and old bread. Naught was left
to do before they might sleep and so the man had found a tree that he could
lean against and was busy cleaning his sword of the remaining blood that still
threatened to rust its blade while Sansa watched him intently from across the
flames. They won’t part us, she repeated to herself as she discreetly began
moving toward him, slowly creeping over the ground like a creature of the
night. The Hound was almost startled when she finally reached him but he
nevertheless didn’t hesitate to throw his weapon aside and pull her over his
lap. Sansa gave no resistance as it was exactly what she was longing for.
 
“I killed those buggers, little bird. You don’t have to worry anymore,” he
rasped in her ear as if he believed that she had joined him in search of
comfort. “If more come, they can all just line up and die, one after the
other.”
 
His words, although rough and unsophisticated, pleased Sansa no end with their
confidence and brutish devotion. He would protect her. She had not been wrong
moments earlier when she had fancied him her knight. He was.
 
“Oh, Sandor,” she murmured, eyes gleaming just before he shut her up with a
hungry, predatory kiss.
 
His tongue was soft, tender and commanding all at once in a mix so perfect that
it answered Sansa’s every need although she could tell that it would never
satiate him. Her hands had somehow appeared over the Hound’s chest and she
shyly let her palms press against the firmness that lay beneath them. A moan
escaped her lips when his mouth left hers and went trailing down her throat.
More carefully than earlier, Sandor’s hands were on her again but Sansa could
sense that he was restraining himself. She wasn’t, and therefore she let her
fingers trace the muscles of his torso. They were taut and unbelievably solid
under her timid touch and she was as horrified as pleasantly surprised by the
unexpected impulse that allowed her to act so improperly. Blood was covering
both her hands and his tunic as she tentatively stroked him but instead of
appalling her as it should, the red stickiness only made her more aware of the
lengths that the man was ready to go to on her behalf. 
 
Eyes aflame with passion, Sandor pulled her even closer to him. Their intimacy
at that moment was beyond overwhelming but Sansa didn’t even think to struggle;
she leaned her head on his shoulder and let the flow of their shared passion
wash over her instead. The Hound’s mouth was on her neck while his large hands
caressed her waist and collarbone firmly. A peculiar but intoxicating heat was
quickly invading Sansa’s core, urging her to press further into him as if she
wished to merge with the man. Breathing in, she allowed the sweet trance-like
state in which she was shrouded to gradually drag her further into its abyss
until the feel of a now-familiar stiffness abruptly disrupted her. Her eyes
immediate popped open. Again?! she wondered, abashed by the touch of the
unmistakable hardness under her backside and upper thighs. Do all men… react…
so easily?
 
A vibration shook Sansa’s cheek as the Hound snorted a short hoarse laugh.
“Don’t be so tense, little bird. I might be hard but I won’t rape you,” he said
with amusement as softly as his rough voice could manage while caressing her
hair.
 
Against all logic and every lesson she had ever been brought up with, Sansa
relaxed as much as possible in that impossible situation. She shyly lowered her
gaze but was unable to move away, the feel of Sandor’s hard member against her
soft body trapping her into stillness. The small flame that had previously been
lit inside her stomach had now evolved into a great and mighty fire but her
fine breeding prevented her from acting on this new mystifying passion. Arms
curled around Sandor, she was as motionless as if the world had stopped
turning, only the increasing heaving of the man’s chest told her that it was
not so. Fingers busily stroking her hair, cheek and neck in slow, smooth
circles, the Hound let Sansa rest against him for a time but then pushed her
gently from him. “You need sleep, little bird,” he said as he stood up. “And I…
I need to piss,” he declared before stalking into the woods.
 
Alone, Sansa sat with her legs drawn up against her breasts, hair tousled while
mixed feelings overwhelmed her. How could she ever have permitted all this to
unfold? A new barrier had been broached and she hadn’t voiced a single word to
stop it. Her silence had in some way been tacit approval of the Hound’s
actions, Sansa realized warily. She had been warned many times against the
dangers that ensued from fraternizing with boys – or men – in the manner that
interested her by her mother and Septa Mordane. What kind of ladies let
retainers do things like these to them? It was certainly very unsettling,
however Sansa couldn’t find it in her to truly be concerned by her recent
actions with Sandor. I love him.Wasn’t that alone enough substance to support
all their deeds? It is, she decided as she crawled to her bedroll. Of course,
she would never dare to let things go further than they had already, but that
evidently went without saying. The furs were cold when she pulled them up and
so Sansa curled into herself in search of warmth, the movement reminding her of
the queer sensation that still lingered in her loins. She bit her lips and
blushed madly as she remembered how the Hound’s manhood had rubbed against her
twice that day but the idea wasn’t so frightening anymore. No, Sansa was now
more curious than scared at the prospect of what might occur between them. What
could possibly be so bad about feeling a man’s hardness through the fabric of
his garments anyway? It wasn’t proper but it didn’t compromise her in any way.
It didn’t bring any ill, really and the Hound would never take her completely
if she didn’t give him her consent first, Sansa was certain about that. He
wants me though,she mused, suddenly submerged by the immensity of the
implication. The thing he desired from her was as forbidden as it was
unnamable. Only a rightful husband could ever hope to get such a present from a
maiden; Sandor certainly knew that she could never give it to him. Or could
she? No. Oh, no, never! I should be ashamed just to consider it!Sansa cried out
inwardly.
 
Yet, once the idea had taken root in her mind, there was no ignoring it
anymore. Although it would be beyond unacceptable, she had it in her power to
offer herself to Sandor if the desire took her. Absurd as it may seem, she had
never fully grasped the control she had over herself and her destiny in that
matter. The notion of that newfound freedom sent an exciting shiver down to her
core. What would occur if she gave herself to Sandor Clegane? Most likely, he’d
waste no time in tearing her gown open and immobilizing her on the ground
before exploring her softness with rough, urgent hands. Her bare, sensitive
skin would rub against his calloused and hairy male body as he possessed her
completely…. She’d be so tiny and powerless that he would cover every inch of
her –
 
This is not right!she tried to reason, but there was no fighting against the
force that had taken her over. She was already a slave to her own curiosity and
yearning as she tentatively squeezed her thighs together, eager to relieve the
unsettling tingle that was building there. It wasn’t enough though; the
pressure only seemed to tease her more. Almost against her will, Sansa let her
hand slide over her gown until she reached the place she was troubled by. The
ache was still heavy, almost blinding as she stroked it through the cloth. The
sensation it brought was exquisite but still not strong enough. She was in no
state to worry about what was seemly or not anymore and therefore didn’t even
think about restraining herself as she gripped her skirts and brought them
higher over her thighs. Her fingers were finding their way to that secret part
of her when the sound of Sandor’s footsteps suspended her every movement. What
would the Hound think of her if he knew the impossible position she was in?
Horrified by what she had gotten herself into, Sansa stayed still and made as
if she had fallen into a deep sleep. Thankfully, the man was too tired to
notice anything. With a grunt, he almost collapsed as he lay down against the
tree he had chosen earlier and began snoring less than a minute later. Once she
was certain he had lost all trace of consciousness, Sansa opened her eyes and
turned her head around. The fire was now no more than a few dim sparks of light
but she nonetheless could make out the shape of his massive limbs, burnt face
and heaving chest through the darkness. She longed to rejoin him and spend the
night tangled in his arms but couldn’t gather the courage nor the force of will
to leave the warmth of her bedroll. Instead, she began stirring the fingers
that were still hidden between her legs, the queer sensation she had earlier
felt immediately revived by the movement.
 
It wasn’t the first time Sansa had explored that part of herself but never
before had her folds been so sensitive to her touch. Nor could she have
foreseen the intensity of the response it would trigger in her. The nub of skin
she had previously discovered was reactive to an extent she hadn’t experienced
until now; nervously she breathed in and let her fingers trace small circles
there. Something mysterious was building in her and would rapidly engulf her,
Sansa realized. Biting her lip, she gazed at the Hound, admiring his imposing
form one last time before she shut her eyes and let her pleasure flood over her
in a gigantic and uncontrollable wave of ecstasy. She barely managed not to
moan aloud as she increased the pressure but then she halted and opened her
eyes in amazement. Never had she suspected that such bliss could arise from
mere caresses; nobody had ever told her that her body held such wonders. Is
this part of what attracts men to women so and makes them try to divert maidens
and wives from their duty? Undoubtedly, Sansa concluded with a smile. She felt
as if she had just uncovered a fragment of a secret that was meant to stay
hidden until her wedding night but strangely enough, the idea didn’t shame or
trouble her. Things were definitely changing in her, she reflected as she
closed her eyes. Sleep wasn’t long in coming; minutes later, her breathing
slowed down as she stepped into the realm of dreams.
Chapter End Notes
     Hope you enjoyed this one!
     Just to let you know, this story is slowly but surely approaching its
     ending. I estimate that they’ll be about four other chapters after
     this one. I prefer to tell you this now so that you are mentally
     prepared when the end arrives.
     There are lots of things that can happen in four chapters though, so
     no use worrying! ;)
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello everyone!
     I know! It’s been so long, but so many things happened since I last
     posted and I’m also extremely busy at school at the moment… Anyway,
     this chapter is the longest I’ve wrote so hopefully it will make it
     up.
     Anyway, thanks everyone for your patience and I hope you’ll keep on
     reading and enjoying this.
                                    Sandor
                                        
The blood had definitely become embedded in his skin; there wasn’t much to do
about it. Should’ve cleaned it yesterday,Sandor mused with annoyance as he
rubbed his arm even harder, crouched over the small creek he had found. Well,
perhaps he should have but he hadn’t had much choice and he wasn’t about to
regret his course of action. After the little bird had been attacked by the two
damnable buggers, the wisest thing to do had been to flee and not look back. He
wouldn’t have risked more boats coming up the river and Sansa hurt or raped by
the bastards they’d carry. Raped… The word sent bile up his throat and made him
unconsciously clench his jaw. The fact that those boors had intended to take
her by force as if she were prey they could hunt down at their own leisure had
stirred Sandor’s thirst for violence to a level it very rarely reached. If
they’d known that only a few yards away, he stood watching, that the Hound was
their quarry’s escort and protector, the two halfwits indubitably would have
rowed a little further up the river and passed by, eyes averted as if the girl
was the sun itself. Sadly for them, they hadn’t and therefore they had learned
the brutal way at what cost a man interposed himself between the Hound and his
duty. At the thought, Sandor bared his teeth in satisfaction but as he
reflected on it he had to laugh at the falseness of it.
 
Who was he kidding really? Duty had naught to do with the slaughter that had
followed and the girl’s life and precious maidenhead certainly didn’t need to
be threatened for his blood to boil dangerously in his veins. He’d kill for
less than that, far less… He’d tear out the eyes of each and every bugger who’d
so much as glanced at the girl only to be assured that he was the sole one
admiring her beauty. And then, I’d be the only male with sight left in
Westeros,he surmised, irked by his own foolishness. The truth was he’d have to
learn to live with the reality that he couldn’t be the only one eyeing the
little bird’s curves with lust and hunger but the very notion made his skin
crawl uncomfortably. Scratching his neck, the man sighed heavily. He had not
always been so possessive of her; in King’s Landing Sandor had barely given any
attention to the looks she was getting from the males that surrounded her. She
was Joffrey’s little bird then and I hadn’t tasted her either… She’s mine now
though,he mused with a slight smirk.For a heartbeat, Sandor believed his own
claim but his satisfaction was short lived. Not only was Sansa not his but he
was going to lose her forever very soon. Stupid dog, he scoffed, a scowl
twisting his face.
 
His mood foul and bitter, the man abruptly stood and strode away from the creek
to rejoin the girl in the clearing where they had slept. The hope that he would
ever be clean again had definitely been erased from his mind; blood still
stained the skin of his arms and he didn’t even want to start pondering how his
face might look. Terrible as always, only bloodier,Sandor wryly sneered to
himself.The little bird didn’t seem to agree with him however for when saw him
arrive, her pretty face lit up as if she had never longed to see anything more
than his burned features.
 
“Sandor!” she exclaimed as she rose and hurriedly approached him.
 
The girl had lately taken to calling him by his name. It was a change from the
‘my lords’ she used to give him so plentifully. He liked the sound of his name
on those luscious lips. Her voice was so soft; it sounded almost pure to his
ears when she called him. Almost.
 
“What took you so long?” the little bird complained, her pink mouth set in a
pout that looked tastier than any fruit he had ever eaten.
 
“The blood won’t wash off,” Sandor explained distractedly, too taken by the
perfection of her pale skin and the glow it had under the morning sun to truly
care about his own hide anymore.
 
“I’m sorry I used the last of your soap,” she whispered with such a sad look
that he barely managed not to burst out laughing.
 
Such a sweet girl.“Don’t worry about me. Dogs are used being dirty. Better you
are clean, and I am the filthy one,” Sandor rasped while caressing her cheek
with his knuckles.
 
The little bird was beaming again, eyes gleaming and all. It was baffling how
his crude words appeared to fill her with joy while not so long ago she had
silently disapproved of everything he said. The girl’s getting used to me,was
the logical conclusion.The next instant, her eyelids were shut and she was
craning her neck, mouth slightly open. Sandor smirked to himself; he damned
well knew what that meant. Although he still couldn’t figure out why the seven
hells such a beauty would desire being kissed by the likes of him, he’d be a
fool not to take advantage of his chance. He lifted his hands to her shoulders
and bent down to kiss her. As always, her lips were tender and submissive and
Sandor wondered for a moment if she would truly oppose him if he laid her on
the ground, lifted those heavy skirts and tore open that very annoying
bodice...
 
Aye, of course she’d complain and squeak but who was to know what a woman truly
meant when she said no? Anyhow, what could she possibly do against me? As long
as the exchange has not taken place, she’s mine to do as I wish. The temptation
to take the girl, willing or not, had never totally left him; it still lingered
in the back of his mind and he apparently would never be rid of it but he had
already made his choice and intended to stick to his word. He wouldn’t rape
her… which also meant he would never have her. Stop whining, dog, you already
had much more than you deserve.On the previous night, the little bird had
allowed his hardened cock to rub against her firm little arse and hadn’t even
tried to escape. It was mind-blowing but he had been the one to flee in the
end. He had had no buggering choice if he wanted to keep the promise he had
made to himself. His hand had been the one doing the dirty deed in the end…
again. Throughout the last few days, Sandor had fucked his hand more often than
a bloody squire would. It was laughable. Well, he’d best stop kissing the girl
and leave the bloody clearing before he had to do it all over again.
 
“We need to go, Sansa,” the man muttered as he let his arms fall from around
her and straightened his back.
 
The girl nodded but nonetheless stayed nestled into him for a time. Her eyes
were shut and she was pushing her cheek and palms into his torso in a manner
that reminded Sandor of a cat begging to be petted. Just as he was about to
relent and raise his hands to hold her again, the little bird turned around and
fled from his grasp as swiftly as a leaf twirling away from one’s fingers.
Sandor felt his mouth twitch and he grunted in annoyance.
 
“Aren’t you going to put on your armour?’ the oblivious girl asked, head
jerking around to look at him when she was a few steps away.
 
“You’re right. I’d forgotten,” he answered almost harshly.
 
Hastily, Sandor headed to the saddlebag that still lay on the ground and
gathered the steel pieces into a pile beside it. He sat on a dead tree and
began tying the smallest parts by himself but once he got to his breastplate,
Sansa neared him from behind and wordlessly took over for him. He let her do
it. Why not? Wasn’t she doing herself a favour more than anything else? His
armour had absurdly been protecting her from him during their last days
together. Without it, the contact of their skin was far too direct and
therefore the danger that he might lose his control increased, as yesterday’s
events demonstrated. He barked a short, dry laugh. As of yet, his armour had
been of more use protecting her from him than from their foes. 
 
“Why are you laughing, Sandor?” the girl asked innocently as she buckled the
last piece of steel over him.
 
“I don’t know myself,” he lied as he stood up so abruptly that she almost fell
down.
 
Thankfully, Sandor quickly caught her by the shoulders and prevented her fall.
The grateful look she gave him as he straightened her up was so moving that it
might have broken the heart of the most hardened brutes of the realm - and he
was one of them. Sandor snorted, irritated by his own senselessness and gently
pushed her aside to join Stranger. The saddlebag was quickly settled over the
horse’s back and the stallion moved nervously while he waited for the last
preparations to be done, obviously eager to go. Good. At least one of us has
other preoccupations than fucking the little bird.
 
They were shortly on their way again and the girl was leaning on him as if he
was a bloody pillow. What could she possibly appreciate about the hardness of
steel against her back? Sandor pushed the thought aside as he would a gnat with
the wave of a hand and tried to recall what truly mattered instead: Hornvale.
The castle was alarmingly close. Gone was the time when he and his charge were
isolated from the world like two castaways on a secluded island; people would
start to sprout around them more and more. Hornvale was the seat of House Brax,
one of the chief bannermen of the Lannisters. It wouldn’t do to be surprised by
their lord or retainers; most were likely to know Sandor and although he
doubted that rumours of his demise had reached anyone’s ears as of yet, the
best course of action was nonetheless to lay low and pass by unnoticed. 
 
“Oh, look, Sandor! There! A house!” the little bird suddenly chirped while
pointing at a decrepit cabin not too far away.
 
“Aye, I saw it. This won’t be the last we come by, so make sure your hood is up
at all times and keep quiet,” he ordered her more sternly than he had intended.
 
The girl nodded and lifted her hood. Three children in rags were playing around
the house and froze when they noticed the travellers. Standing still, they
stared with wide eyes, obviously frightened by the strangers. Their faces were
all dirtied with earth and their hair had the color and texture of old straw.
Those were the get of the poorest of the poor, hermits that lived on the edge
of civilization, Sandor surmised. Nevertheless, even recluses couldn’t live too
far from a village of some type; Hornvale, in that case. Eyes narrowed, Sandor
sent the tots a furtive glare and the three of them instantly jumped and ran
away, yelping like mice. The man sniggered as he watched their flight but he
nonetheless calmly continued on his way, never mind the reproving glance the
little bird sent him.
 
As the day went by, Sandor’s prediction proved right; hovels were getting
increasingly more common and the wood was becoming thinner by the hour. Around
midday, they encountered a group of woodcutters that stopped their work to eye
him and the little bird with suspicion. None were as tall as him but they were
a brawny lot and therefore Sandor kept his gaze on them and his hand over the
hilt of his sword. The group was silent and staring, even their mules appeared
puzzled by the disruption and had turned their heads around to gaze at the
intruders. After a long and awkward moment of incertitude, the commoners
finally gave way to let Stranger pass and bowed down. Breathing out with
relief, Sandor hurried his horse forward and hastily left the clearing behind.
 
Hornvale’s nearest village was perhaps less than an hour away and although he
was getting nervous about the dangers it might represent, Sandor knew that
avoiding it completely was not a viable option. They were already late enough
for the exchange and circling around Hornvale would perhaps add as much as a
half-day to their journey. Their current proximity to the castle couldn’t be
helped.
 
Just as he was reflecting on these facts, Sandor sighted the towers of Hornvale
castle piercing through the canopy of the forest in the distance. The white and
purple sigil of House Brax was flying high and proud in the sky above it and
Sansa, who had sensed that his attention had been caught by something, turned
her head around and gasped when she noticed the stone structure.
 
“A castle!” she whispered, her voice as terrified as if she had glimpsed a
dragon cutting its way across the sky. Clutching at Sandor’s arm, she rapidly
jerked her head around and gazed up at him with eyes wide with apprehension.
 
He had to smile at the excessiveness of her reaction. “Aye. Hornvale, it’s
called,” he explained, eyes protectively lowered to her. “We’ll avoid it as
best we can.”
 
With a kick, Sandor hurried Stranger’s pace. Throughout the next hour, he tried
to keep a sensible distance between the castle and them without losing sight of
its tower completely. By then, the trees were so sparse that it was as easy to
keep a steady rhythm as it would’ve been on any regular country lane. The
little bird and he were about to completely leave Hornvale’s surroundings
behind when the sound of hooves on the forest ground resounded from behind
them. Jerking his head around, Sandor discerned the rider immediately. He was
still at some distance from them but at the speed he rode, he was sure to catch
up with them in no time and as the bugger obviously intended to join them,
there was really no sense in trying to flee. Reluctantly, Sandor halted
Stranger and turned the horse around while discreetly laying a hand over the
hilt of his sword. Alarmed, the little bird gazed up at him, her eyes big and
round.
 
“Stay still and keep your mouth shut. We’ll see what the boor wants soon
enough,” he told her lowly, the rough edge of his voice betraying his unease.
 
Without a word, the girl leaned further into him, hugging herself as if she
were cold while she returned her attention to the rider. The man was rapidly
closing in; they would soon discover the purpose of the peculiar and unwanted
pursuit. When he finally reached them, the boor stopped his horse and began
boldly studying them both while catching his breath. The man was close enough
to make them out clearly and although he appeared surprised by his find, he
also seemed queerly pleased.
 
“So the rumour is true,” he finally said when he was rested enough.
 
“What rumour?” Sandor spat with contempt. By instinct, he tightened his fingers
around his sword’s hilt.
 
Seemingly unaware of his interlocutor’s hostility, the man explained himself
with contentment. “Woodcutters that worked in the forest nearby came back to
Hornvale with tidings that the Hound was in the area. My lord has sent me to
meet you and offer his hospitality. He told me that no member of the Kingsguard
and servant of the Lannisters could possibly pass by without spending at least
one night at his castle.”
 
Sandor’s scowl deepened. He’d been a bloody fool to hope that the woodcutters
hadn’t recognised him, especially with the looks they had given him.
Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from the hilt of his sword; his blade
wouldn’t be of any help with that Brax retainer. Words were the weapon he’d
need to get out of this fix but courtesies had never been his thing.
Nonetheless, he’d try. “We’re in a hurry. You’ll thank Lord Brax for me but-”
 
“Why not come and thank him by yourself, Clegane?” a voice resounded from
further into the woods.
 
Almost instantly, Sandor jerked his head around and peered in the direction it
had come. Too preoccupied by the incursion of the first bugger, Sandor had
shamefully not even noticed that there was another rider approaching them. He
glowered, piqued by his own negligence. “And who are you?” he yelled at the
newcomer.
 
“Give me time to join you first, please,” the second rider cried out as he led
his horse toward them. He was a young man of twenty years or so, with chestnut
hair and a tanned complexion and the quality of the garb he wore gave no doubt
that he was no retainer. “You don’t recognise me, of course,” he said when he
was close enough. “Last time we met, I was little more than a boy but I
remember admiring your battle skills in our yard while you practiced with other
men of your group.” Bowing his head slightly, the young man presented himself.
“I am Richard, heir of House Brax. Surely nothing can be so pressing that you
won’t stop by the castle to rest properly.”
 
Great… exactly what I needed; the buggering heir in person. That one will
definitely be harder to rebuff, Sandor reflected while fighting the urge to
roll his eyes and sigh. “I thank you, my lord, but I am on a mission that
requires me to be as fast as possible,” he replied instead.
 
The heir’s stare had travelled from Sandor to Sansa and he was gazing at her
with curious eyes. “A mission involving this young lady, I gather?”
 
Jaw clenched, Sandor grudgingly recognised that there was no point in lying
about what was as plain as day. “Aye, it does,” he admitted. Only then did he
realise that the little bird’s back was still flush against him. Discreetly, he
raised a hand and pushed her from him.
 
The Brax lad thankfully didn’t notice anything, too busy listening to the sound
of his own voice. “And – tell me if I’m right - could it be possible that this
mission is somehow connected to the gathering taking place near the Golden
Tooth?” he asked. “Some say that Jaime Lannister has been brought up there but
no one has been able to confirm it yet. We know that most of the group is from
the Riverlands but that some of them have come from as far as the North-”
 
Sandor’s mouth twitched. Are all of the fucking Seven Kingdoms acquainted with
this now?! “This meeting was supposed to be a secret. Have rumours spread
already?” he said curtly with scarcely hidden anger.
 
“No use worrying, my friend!” the young lord replied, a wide, poised grin
stretching his lips. “We know of it at the castle because of the spies we keep
but the smallfolk and knights of the area are ignorant of the matter, of
course.”
 
“I see,” Sandor rasped dryly, not reassured at all by the boy’s words.
 
Smiling warmly at the girl, the heir of House Brax advanced slightly toward
them while continuing with his interminable inquiry. “I presume this young
woman is Lady Sansa of House Stark. Which other maiden could be brought to
Riverlanders and Northerners in such secrecy, I wonder? And with the hair she
has-”
 
“You’re right, it is she,” Sandor impatiently snapped. He hadn’t taken note
that the little bird’s locks weren’t braided. Red curls were clearly visible,
cascading out of her hood down to her waist.
 
With a questioning frown, the young man continued in an amused tone. “Was it
judged more discreet to travel this way, with one horse only? It doesn’t seem
very fitting to ride double like you’re doing.”
 
Sandor snorted. Of course it wasn’t proper. “No. We’ve been attacked by outlaws
during our journey. I’ve been able to retrieve the girl, but not her mare nor
her things,” he explained, preferring not even to mention the buggering
Lannister squire he had lost along the way.
 
“The girl? Is this an appropriate way to refer to a highborn maiden like Lady
Sansa, hostage though she may be?” the lad asked in a mocking, falsely shocked
tone.
 
Sighing, Sandor narrowed his eyes on him. “Well, perhaps not but that’s what I
call her,” he retorted without thinking. The Brax boy and his smooth ways were
definitely getting on his nerves.
 
The young man laughed casually at his reply. “I’ve been warned about your sharp
tongue, Clegane. Very refreshing,” he commented with a genuine smile and Sandor
had to wonder at that instant if he didn’t prefer the usual scorn he received
than this so very bothersome friendliness. “Anyhow,” the lad continued, “I
highly encourage both of you to come to Hornvale. We’ll lend Lady Sansa a horse
and provide you with an escort. That will certainly be more seemly when you
meet with your hostage’s family. Let’s not cloud the Lannister’s reputation by
letting the Northerners witnesstheir princess in such an unbecoming position.”
 
As much as Sandor hated to admit it, the lad had a point. The little bird would
certainly benefit from everything that Richard Brax had proposed. She needed to
preserve her reputation and some measure of appearance and arriving at the
exchange point in a faded, blood-stained dress, sharing a horse with Joffrey’s
dog was certainly not the way to achieve it. Anyhow, the Brax family was
clearly clueless about Sandor’s little misadventure with Julius and the thugs
and thus there was really no risk in spending a single night at their castle.
The only detail that bothered him, and it was quite a detail to be honest, was
that his time alone with the girl would be ending a few days earlier than he
had predicted but it was perhaps better this way. It would all have to end
sooner than later anyway.
 
“Fine then. We’ll come,” he answered once he had made up his mind. “I thank
you,” he then added as an afterthought with an evident lack of enthusiasm.
 
“The pleasure is mine, Clegane,” the lad replied with a smile. Bowing his head
respectfully, he then addressed the little bird. “It’s an honour to welcome you
tonight, Lady Sansa.”
 
“I thank you, my lord,” she replied shyly. The lithe muscles of her back were
tense but she had listened and was now holding her balance solely by keeping
her hands on the pommel. It annoyed Sandor although it was exactly what he had
hinted she should do only minutes earlier.
 
“Everything is settled then. You may follow me, I’ll show you the way,” the
Brax boy announced joyfully before kicking his horse and striding toward the
castle.  Both Sandor and the other rider followed immediately in his wake but
none spoke. Only Richard’s voice resounded through the forest as they made
their way, although Sandor couldn’t have cared less what he was rambling about.
 
The group had ridden for less than half an hour when they reached the entrance
of Hornvale castle. The drawbridge was down and the massive steel doors wide
open. The young lord led the way in but Sandor remembered the place well
enough. He had spent about a week there when he was returning from battling the
rebel Ironmen some years back. The yard hadn’t changed much since that time, he
remarked as he scanned the place. A group of men, retainers mostly, were in
discussion in one of its corners and standing in the middle of them, Sandor
immediately recognised the old lord. He was a robust and tall man - although
still shorter than him - with a grey beard and only the remnants of hair
crowning his balding head. The old Lord Brax was deep in conversation and it
took him a moment to notice the newcomers. Sandor had already jumped from his
horse and was about to help Sansa down when the man came to salute him.
 
“Ah! So the woodcutters where no fools after all. We weren’t certain that they
hadn’t mistaken someone else for you but I’m pleased to see they didn’t err,”
the old lord said stiffly.
 
Sandor grunted and bowed his head slightly.
 
“I welcome you to my house, make yourself comfortable,” Lord Brax went on, a
tight smile barely curling his lips. “You’ll have to forgive me though; I have
to settle an important matter that really can’t wait. We’ll have the chance to
talk later tonight perhaps; until then I’m certain my son will take good care
of you.” The man had already turned around when he finished his sentence and he
hadn’t even glanced once at Sansa as he talked. At the realisation, Sandor felt
the unburned corner of his mouth twist in a pleased smile. If only more males
were to do as the old lord did, he might not have so many eyes to tear out in
the days to come.
 
Lord Brax was just as Sandor had remembered; polite, obliging and most of all,
always eager to aid his Lannister liege lord and his retainers but he wasn’t a
very friendly man. Too bad the trait has skipped a generation, Sandor sneered
to himself as he glared at the Brax lad. The little bird was glancing around
her with apprehension when the man gazed at her again. Wordlessly, he circled
her tiny waist and took her from the horse.
 
Her hands nervously gripped his arms as he did so. “Oh, Sandor! Do you think
they’ll know? About you, I mean?” she murmured warily while he brought her
down.
 
He shook his head slowly. “Everything’s fine, Sansa.” As he spoke, he noticed
that she was still clutching at him like a lost child. With a sigh, he stirred
his arm to free himself from her grasp and took a step back.
 
As he left her, she smiled timidly at him but her eyes were wide and sad. The
sight made something quiver deep down inside him but he only scowled and turned
around to join Stranger in an attempt to stop it.
 
“Lady Sansa!” someone called suddenly. From the other side of the yard, the
young heir of House Brax was waving a hand at her. He was heading toward them,
followed by a middle-aged woman; a servant most likely, judging by the dress
she wore.
 
“Lady Sansa, meet Anna. She’ll be helping you settle into the room we’ve given
you and show you the old gowns that my sisters left behind when they married.
I’m sure a few of them will suit you well enough,” the lad told her as he and
the handmaiden flanked the little bird.
 
“We’ll need adjacent rooms,” Sandor rapidly interceded as he interposed himself
between Sansa and the Brax boy, Stranger’s reins in hand. “She’s still under my
care,” he then added as if to explain himself.
 
“That certainly can be managed. I’m sure we have two neighbouring guest rooms
ready to be slept in. Do we, Anna?” he inquired, gazing kindly at the wench.
 
“Yes, m’lord, we do indeed. I’ll lead both of you, m’lady and m’lord,” she
proposed, while respectfully looking at both Sandor and his charge.
 
“Bring the… Lady Sansa there first. I’ll take my horse to the stables and find
my way on my own afterward,” Sandor rasped, glancing at the dark beast by his
side. “That one’s not very friendly with unfamiliar hands. No need calling a
squire unless you want to correct him and are looking for some sort of
punishment.” He bared his teeth in a smirk at the memory of every stable boy
that now wore a scar to remind them of the Hound’s horse.
 
The young man laughed heartily. “Do it yourself, then. I’ll show you the way.”
 
Sandor followed him in silence. He remembered well enough where the stables
were from his first visit years ago but judged it useless to intervene; the lad
was not likely to leave him alone whatever he said. Some instinct made him jerk
his head around to rake his gaze over the yard one last time as he went. Like a
magnet, the blue pools of Sansa’s eyes drew his instantly. She was staring at
him as the servant woman led her to the entrance and looked as distraught as if
he had just abandoned her in the middle of fucking battlefield. Sandor almost
immediately averted his eyes from her and barely contained himself from shaking
his head in despair. Couldn’t she see that she was safe?
 
Stranger was quickly settled in a loose box and given water and food. Sandor
had just begun brushing the stallion when the Brax boy spoke again.
 
“I’d really like for you and Lady Sansa to join me for supper tonight. My lord
father is often very busy and it would be a change to have people to talk with
for once.”
 
The burned corner of Sandor’s mouth twitched. He had no intention of sharing
the little bird with anyone tonight. Especially since it was the last
opportunity he was ever likely to get to spend some time alone with her. “I’m
sorry but she’s a hostage. I can’t let her wander freely around your castle as
if she were a regular guest. She’ll have to eat alone in her room, as she
always did when she was in King’s Landing,” he shamelessly lied, keeping his
eyes on Stranger’s flank as he spoke.
 
“It’s unheard of to constrain a highborn captive like that, much less a maiden
as harmless as Lady Sansa. She wouldn’t be free either, you’d be with her,” the
lad argued, a frown on his face.
 
“Order of the king,” Sandor grunted, trying to sound as sorry as he could
manage although he truly got some satisfaction in crushing the lad’s hopes.
“I’ll be staying in my room too. I need rest.”
 
“As you wish then. I’ll make sure meals and warm water are sent to both of you
and make the arrangements for your departure.” The young lord had yielded more
easily than Sandor had predicted and for that, the man was extremely grateful.
 
“I thank you, my lord. You can be certain I’ll tell the king of your generosity
when I see him next,” Sandor rasped lowly, a slow grin creeping over his lips.
He wasn’t really lying; he could always mention the Braxs’ hospitality to
Joffrey before Payne chopped his head off if he ever got captured… 
 
****
 
By some improbable miracle Sandor had found, packed in a corner of his
saddlebag, a tunic that had not been worn once since his departure from King’s
Landing. He had put it aside, chosen his cleanest breeches and given the
stinking rest to an old washerwoman. The crone had assured him that it would
all be ready on the morrow and thus Sandor had jumped at the opportunity; like
it or not, this was likely to be the last chance he would get to launder his
garb before he set foot in the Free Cities. 
 
The bath Sandor had taken afterward had been a world away from the ice-cold
torture he had endured the previous day and the warm water and soap had easily
erased every single buggering blood stain he had cursed over that morning. Now
- clean, dry and rested - he lay on his bed with a skin of wine in hand as he
waited for the damned meal to be brought up. Why is it taking so long? he kept
wondering while he listened to his stomach rumbling its own complaint. He was
starving but most of all, Sandor was craving Sansa. At least the wine was good,
dark and sour as he liked. It was a relief to drink something other than water
for once after days of being completely sober. The thick and delectably strong
liquid made the wait more bearable; he could almost forget the cruel proximity
of the little bird while it flowed down his throat, but each time his mouth
left the wineskin, he was reminded of being on the wrong side of the wall. Calm
down, dog, the evening’s still young,he reasoned, tipping his skin to his lips
again. Only once the meals were brought up would he rejoin the girl; it
wouldn’t do for them to be surprised by servants alone in her chamber. Until
then, he’d best learn patience and keep quiet.
 
Just as he was taking another desperate swig of wine, the long-awaited knock
resounded against the door. At the sound, Sandor jumped from his bed and opened
it instantly. A wench was standing there, a large tray in hand with a plate of
steaming food sitting over it. She looked terrified when she saw him, however
Sandor barely eyed her; his attention had been grasped by the little bird’s
door, which was ajar, and he couldn’t have cared less for the scarecrow that
waited before him. As he snatched the tray from the wench’s shaking grip,
another servant woman exited the girl’s room and shut the door behind her. Only
then did Sandor lower his eyes to the anxious woman before him.
 
“You won’t be needed tonight. You may both go,” he informed her sharply.
 
Standing on the doorstep, he watched the wenches as they trailed down the
stairway and pricked up his ears until he couldn’t discern a single footstep.
Once silence was complete again, he closed his door as best he could with his
hands full and leaped the short distance that separated him from the girl’s
room.
 
“Little bird, let me in,” he then demanded.
 
His side leaning against the door, the man listened to the softness of her
steps as she strode toward him. “Sandor!” she exclaimed as she opened the door
for him. Her smiling face was like an apparition in the slit of the door; the
cream of her skin was so stunning against the deep redness of her mane and her
lips, pink and full… She looks tired though, Sandor remarked. Her usual big,
bright eyes were reddened and small and lacked the vivacity he had become
accustomed to. She’s probably fallen asleep while waiting for the food, he
concluded. Red eyes on not, she’s still the prettiest thing I’ve ever had the
chance to behold, not to mention kiss and fondle,the man decided, smirking
while he pushed the door completely open with his shoulder.  Quickly, he
entered and settled his tray on a large table close by the window. The chamber
the Braxs had given Sansa was very much like his own, Sandor judged as he swept
his stare over its length. It was roomy, with a fireplace, a small dining space
and a bed in its corner. Against his will, his gaze lingered over the bed a
little longer than was necessary but he hastily shook himself and looked
elsewhere.
 
The little bird had shut the door and was slowly approaching him when Sandor
set his eyes upon her again. Her slim body was covered with a loose, white
nightgown that was nothing if not modest but something about the pure, virginal
aura it gave her aroused him instantly. The girl herself was manifestly abashed
to be seen thus; her face was all flushed and she was hugging herself in a vain
attempt to conceal the inappropriateness of her clothes.
 
“I’m not dressed properly… I didn’t think you would come-”
 
“Really?” He snorted. Did she truly believe he wouldn’t seek her? “Well, if it
makes you feel better, I’ve seen you in far more revealing gowns back in King’s
Landing.” He had meant his words to reassure her but the girl’s cheeks only
seemed to grow hotter when she heard them.
 
Smirking at her oh-so-delightful timidity, Sandor caught her by the wrists and
drew her toward him. When she was near enough, he snaked a strong hand around
her waist and cupped her cheek with the other. The fabric of her nightgown was
thinner than it had appeared, Sandor marvelled. He could almost feel her skin
through the fine cloth. Grunting with desire, he let his fingers travel from
her side to the small of her back and then to her ribs, eager to explore this
new closeness. The girl immediately surrendered to his touch and moaned softly;
she was melting into him faster than snow thrown over a burning brazier. The
side of her head was leaning into his palm, her chin up in a mouth-watering
offering of white skin and Sandor’s eyes roved over the deliciousness of her
throat with building hunger. Her neck was so thin – like all the rest of her-
and it moved with each breath she took. Mouth wide open, Sandor took it between
his teeth and bit lightly. To his infinite pleasure, the girl gasped aloud. I’d
best stop, Sandor mused against his own will as he gently pushed her away. It
was that or having her for dinner instead of the food that waited on the table.
 
“Let’s eat, Sansa,” he rasped as he led her to the table. It pained him to
leave such willing prey but he was indeed hungry and the sooner the meal was
over with, the sooner he could return his attention to her. He’d make the most
of their last evening alone afterward and see how far she was willing to let
him go, he reflected, gazing at her arse as she sat down. She hadn’t even tried
to flee from him last night after all, when she’d been sitting over his
stiffened shaft…
 
“This looks really good,” the little bird said with a faint smile as she
glanced at her meal.
 
Indeed, the man mused, eyes roving over her curves. The redness of her eyes
hadn’t faded, Sandor noticed when he had succeeded at last in raising his stare
to her face. Her smile didn’t seem as genuine as it normally did either.Tired,
he concluded as he took his place in front of her.
 
They ate in silence, him as fast as a starving man, her so very slowly. The
food was good though; fresh partridge with a mix of turnips and greens but the
girl was still pushing her food around her plate as a child would when he
finished his. “If you don’t like it, I’ll eat it for you,” Sandor threatened
before taking a long swig of his wine.
 
Without an ounce of hesitation, the little bird pushed her plate over to him.
Sandor grabbed it immediately and made short work of its contents. He wouldn’t
waste good food and furthermore, he was still hungry. Sansa was absentmindedly
staring at him when he finally tossed his fork over the table. Meeting her
eyes, he gazed at her for a long moment, admiring how the flat line of her lips
gradually curled into a smile under his attention. There, Sandor thought with
satisfaction when her face had lost all of its previous melancholy. The man
drank in the sight of her for some time but then a realisation shook him. He
was alone, in a room with a bloody featherbed, with the prettiest maiden he’d
ever seen… and he would soon be losing her forever. Sandor wasn’t about to
think about that just now though –he’d have the rest of his useless life to
lament it. No, tonight was the time to take everything he could possibly get
from her. He’d sip every single drop she would allow him to squeeze out of her
and there was not a minute to spare.
 
Grinning, Sandor rose and walked around the table. Her eyes wide, the girl
braced herself with apprehension as she watched him approach and gasped when he
hoisted her over his shoulder, no warning given. She liked being carried,
didn’t she? He’d indulge her tonight, Sandor mused, grin broadening. The girl’s
soft slippers had fallen from her feet and as he strode to the bed, the lace at
the fringe of her dress was flying over her ankles. Ineluctably, Sandor’s eyes
were drawn to the soft shapes of her feet, covered by white silken stockings.
Of its own accord, his free hand grabbed one and his fingers enveloped it
completely.
 
He was already hard as a rock when he threw her onto the bed but he would need
to control himself if he didn’t want to scare her off right away. He planned on
going as far as she would allow him tonight, however this would only be
achieved by going as slowly as he could manage. Patience was what would allow
him to push her limits the farthest. Evidently, a highborn maiden like her was
far from likely to give herself completely to anyone but her buggering husband
on her wedding night but Sandor could think of a few other things they might
do…
 
As she landed on the bed, the little bird squeaked so very beautifully. Her
cheeks were crimson and her eyes wide as she tried to sit up but Sandor wasn’t
able to stop himself from pushing her down again and getting on top of her. In
shock, she opened her mouth to speak - without success - as Sandor immediately
kissed her while sliding a hand over her flat stomach and ribs. He paused to
lick and bite the paleness of her neck; his hand was almost getting to her
breasts-
 
“Oh, Sandor… Sandor, please… we need to talk…” the little bird suddenly
implored, her frail hands pushing at his shoulders.
 
Perplexed, but most of all annoyed, the man rose slightly from her. “About
what?” he managed to grunt.
 
The blue of Sansa’s eyes was gleaming in the dimness of the room. She bit her
lip, bleakness rising in her. “Tomorrow, we won’t be alone anymore… and soon,
with the exchange, we’ll be parted-”
 
“I know that, Sansa, trust me,” Sandor cut her off with irritation. That was
exactly the reason why he wanted to talk as little as possible and act as much
as he could but he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, he dipped his head down and
tried to kiss her.
 
The girl cocked her head and avoided him just in time. “Please, Sandor! Don’t
you want to listen to what I have to say to you?” she asked in a small,
pleading voice, her distress plain.
 
Sighing, the man rolled on his side and laid narrowed eyes on her. “I’m
listening,” he rasped dryly.
 
The little bird wasn’t smiling at all at that instant. Gone was her usual grin
but she didn’t look mad either, only sad. She was hesitant and kept silent for
some time - precious time they didn’t bloody have! “Starting tomorrow, we won’t
be alone anymore,” she began at last. “I thought we still had a few days ahead
of us, all by ourselves before we met with my family but we won’t. I’ve thought
about this all afternoon! What will become of you once the exchange is done?
Don’t you think that… that…” She paused. “Sandor… I… I’d like you to become my
sworn shield… I’ll ask my mother and-”
 
Sandor snorted in disbelief. “Your sworn shield?”
 
A shy smile crept over the little bird’s pretty face. “Yes… would you like
that?” she asked timidly.
 
Slowly shaking his head, Sandor stared at her with a mix of incredulity and
annoyance. Was she out of her fucking mind? After a long wordless moment, he
snapped. “The bloody question is not if I’d like to be your sworn shield or
not, Sansa.” Breathing in, he then uttered a brief and exasperated laugh,
devoid of any joy. “Are you truly naïve enough to believe that your family
would allow that? Tell me?” he hissed afterwards, more irked than touched by
the unrealistic proposition.
 
Sansa’s eyes were fluttering and she had backed away from him, all the muscles
of her lithe body tense. He hadn’t been able to control his outburst and now he
regretted it of course, but how was he supposed to keep his composure when she
expressed such stupid things?! Sandor didn’t know what to do with himself
because the impossibility of the situation angered him so much.
 
The girl was perhaps innocent as a newborn but she wasn’t a fool either; she
undoubtedly realised something she had said had ruffled him the wrong way. She
waited an instant, eyes lowered but finally regained the courage to speak up.
“No, of course. I do know you’re right… I’ve thought about this too…” she
murmured in the smallest of voices. Raising her eyes to gaze at him, the little
bird continued. “My family would not agree at first… but I’m sure I could make
them see-”
 
Sandor glowered even more. This was just too much. Was he supposed to share her
idiotic dreams and hope for what was fucking inconceivable too? Did she truly
think he believed in fairies and valiant knights also? “You want to make them
see? What exactly, Sansa? That I’m an ugly, murderous dog?” he mocked in a
snarl, rage rising in him like water threatening to boil over. He breathed in
but it did nothing to calm his temper.
 
Sansa’s eyes were filling with tears. “No, of course not!” she almost sobbed.
 
“Then what, little bird? Tell me? That I’m hard for you? Uh?! Is that it?” he
asked, dragging her toward him so that she pressed against the hardness of his
shaft. She yelped and he got a cruel satisfaction from her dismay.
 
“Sandor, stop it! Please!” she exclaimed. She tried to shove him away, without
success.
 
Her eyes were lowered and she was clutching at the cloth of his tunic, scared
and probably wishing she had never met him at all. Good for her. She had to
learn something from all this.
 
Her sweet voice took him out of the darkness of his brooding as abruptly as the
sun appearing after a storm on a summer’s day. “All I want is for us to be
together, don’t you understand?” she murmured, two lone tears rolling down her
cheeks.
 
Their sight instantly cooled the wrath in him and he felt something stir inside
him, deeply buried at the bottom of his core. The sensation was queer, painful
even but also… tempting, so very tempting. What had she said? Together? He
raised his fingers and dried the wetness on her face. Had she really said she
desired to be with him? Whatever the fuck that meant?
 
“Together, you said?” he lamentably repeated.
 
“Yes,” the girl answered, a vacillating smile forming on her lips.
 
She wants to be with me.The idea was too absurd to intellectualize, however a
part of Sandor that knew no logic was threatening to take control. Something
had lit in him, his eyes had opened wide and the troubling movement in his core
was increasing dangerously. It hurt but something about it was enticing, so
enticing that he ended up capitulating and allowed it to be, if only for a
brief instant.
 
He should never have permitted it. Never, but it was already too late when he
realised the scale of his mistake. Like a valve, Sandor’s restraint broke
before he even knew it and then he lost it completely. Unable to stop himself,
the words were out of his mouth sooner than he could even think. “Come with me,
Sansa,” he rasped with more passion than he was aware he had in him. In one
swift movement, Sandor had rolled closer to the little bird and buried his hand
in her hair, around the back of her head. “We don’t have to go to the exchange.
It’s not too late,” he continued, with the same pathetic fervour. “Flee with me
tonight and we’ll cross the NarrowSea, go live in the Free Cities. Together.”
Was it really him talking that nonsense?
 
Sansa’s lips parted in stupefaction. “But what will Lord Brax think?” she
breathed so softly that he could barely make out what she said.
 
“Lord Brax?” Sandor snorted. “I’ll kill him if needs be,” he added, fingers
stroking the girl’s face. All his pride forgotten, the man pleaded to her like
the most pitiable wreck he could think of, “Come with me, little bird. I’m
begging you.”
 
Eyes shining with emotion, Sansa murmured, “But my family-”
 
“A girl can’t stay with her family forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to
leave them.” Sandor had perhaps lost every shred of dignity he had ever managed
to keep but there was no stopping him now. He felt like a man trapped in a
black cell for years that had finally glimpsed the sun from afar after an
eternity of total darkness. 
 
Clearly bewildered, the little bird seemed to hesitate and Sandor kissed her,
foolishly hoping that it would help her make up her mind in his favour.
 
The girl’s arms had climbed around his neck and her lips and tongue were as
hungry as his. They barely had time to breathe but they still continued on.
Sandor was on his elbow, one hand lost in the thickness of the girl’s hair, the
other grabbing one of her fine teats. She gasped but let him do it. It was too
perfect to be true. The prospect that she might become hisin truthwas gleaming
in the background as the most alluring delusion and all the while, she was
seemingly inclined in allowing him to do whatever he pleased with her. Naught
had ever been so perfect. Was Sandor hallucinating it all? He pressed his cock
against her just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming - but he wasn’t - and by some
miracle, he felt himself grow even harder although he wouldn’t have believed it
possible. Overwhelmed by lust, Sandor backed away from the little bird – his
little bird - and got on his side, rising just enough to catch her ankle with
his hand.
 
“Come with me, Sansa,” he muttered as he brushed his fingers up her calf from
under her nightgown. She looked about to say something – a protest maybe - but
Sandor kissed her just in case he might not like what she said. The hope she
had given him was too fucking beautiful to be destroyed. He was torn between
his need to know and his fear of knowing. “Come,” Sandor despairingly rasped
again once he left her lips.
 
His fingers were gripping the hem of her stocking over the deliciousness of her
thigh, ready to bring it down when she breathed the accursed words he was
praying to the gods he didn’t even bloody believe in she wouldn’t. “No… no…
Sandor, no…” she said.
 
“No? No what?” the man rasped frantically, hand still clamped over her thigh.
“That…” he pressed his fingers over the soft skin, “Or ‘no’… to come with me?”
he asked with barely-hidden apprehension. Never had he heard his own voice
sound so damnably pitiable. He couldn’t stand being so weak, contempt was
consuming him… but still he waited for her answer with hope. Everything about
that moment of expectation was as intolerable as it was exhilarating.
 
Evidently as lost as him, Sansa reflected for what appeared to be an eternity.
“I don’t know…”she whispered after some time. Shutting her eyes, she frowned
and her face became taut with concentration. Just as Sandor was about to lose
his mind completely, the little bird opened her eyes and finally answered. “No,
Sandor. We can’t go like that,” she said.
 
In the blink of an eye, everything crumbled. Sighing heavily, Sandor narrowed
his eyes at the girl. Had he been dreaming all this? Looks like you did, stupid
dog.
 
Then, as winter was always certain to come once summer had died, the chirping
started again. “I’m sure I can convince my mother, Sandor. I know I can. We
can’t just flee! We have to go to the exchange as planned… but then I’ll make
sure you stay with me, you can count on that,” she cried as she sat up and
modestly drew her legs under her, away from Sandor’s grasp.
 
Exactly as the most perfect of dreams inevitably slips between one’s fingers
when the sun rises, reality violently hit Sandor at that precise instant.
Words: that was all she would ever give him; it was also all she had ever
wished to extort from him. Now that she had ripped the confessions and pleas
out of him, that she had seen him crawl at her feet, he lost all interest in
her eyes and she was retreating. The little bird had reached her goal, hadn’t
she? She wouldn’t come with him, no matter what he promised her. He’d been a
bloody halfwit to believe she’d choose otherwise. He’d been an even bigger fool
to let her know he dreamed of possessing her. Sandor should never have let
himself go as he had just done. She’d seen him in a far too vulnerable place,
he realised with sudden anger. The girl had had a glimpse of the fullness of
his passion for her, of something meant for no one’s eyes, not even his.
 
The little bird was indeed a kitten playing with a mouse; she had caught Sandor
so well in her claws that he had not even noticed she had overpowered him.
Sansa Stark would never be his, never flee with him and never give herself to
him. She had never so much as intended any of these. Perhaps - and even
probably - she had no true notion of what she had just achieved. It was merely
female instinct that had pushed her to act so, to impel him to willingly open
up, his insides bloodied in front of her for the sole purpose of her
distraction. Men hunted animals and other men but these were the triumphs women
enjoyed. Her first trophy: that’s what Sandor was. Sansa had not acted with
cruelty in mind, or mayhap even consciously, however she had done it and he
despised her for it. Sandor hated being anyone’s victim.
 
Red with anger, he glared at her as she sat demurely at the edge of the bed,
far too pure for him. He couldn’t possibly dirty that perfection with his
filthy hands. How had he ever believed she would allow him to? This had been
all a play. He should show her his wrath, show her what happened when you
teased a man so and then he’d leave her broken and bloodied and alone. She’d
learn her lesson once her maidenhead was no more than a stain on the white
sheets of her featherbed. He’d flee this night for the Free Cities and let the
buggering Braxs clean up the fucking mess for him afterwards.
 
His blood pumping, Sandor considered it for the space of a few breaths until he
remembered his faults and the depth of his own guilt. Hadn’t he been aware of
what he was involving himself with ever since it all started? Hadn’t he jumped
eagerly and knowingly into the little bird’s game, happy to get whatever scraps
she’d throw him? She had given him far more than he had ever predicted but now
he was complaining because he couldn’t have it all… If truth be told, he was
the real predator, not her.
 
Still, the knowledge of his misdeeds was not enough to soothe him completely.
He did feel disgusted by his own actions and his dissolute ways but most of
all, he was infuriated with himself, that he had enabled anyone to grab so much
control over him. He wasn’t supposed to be that weak. Perhaps the best course
of action was to flee, to never look back and forget – if possible – about all
this. He’d finish what he had started of course - bringing the girl to her
family but then he’d disappear as soon as she was safely behind her mother’s
skirts again.
 
Suddenly determined, Sandor stood up, scowling, and grabbed his wineskin.
Without a word, he headed for the door and gave the girl one last glance.
 
Transfixed, the little bird was staring at him with big, puzzled eyes. “Sandor,
where are you going?” she cried out in a high-pitched voice, tears rolling down
her cheeks.
 
She wouldn’t get him this time. Never would Sandor fall for tears again, or
anything women did whatsoever. He didn’t answer her imploring calls and slammed
the door behind him, intent on drowning himself in wine.
 
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey everyone!
     New chapter, hope you’ll enjoy!
Anna, the Braxs’ handmaiden, woke Sansa a little after dawn. With
well–practiced movements, she opened the curtains and aired the chamber while
Sansa sleepily sat at the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes. The woman had
brought with her a bowl of steaming milk and a large piece of honeyed bread
which Sansa glared at for some time. The very sight of food made her stomach
turn.  I need to eat, I have a long day before me, she reflected as she stood
up and dutifully walked to the table. She had barely absorbed anything
yesterday after all, when the Hound had been with her… Oh Sandor, Sansa sighed
sadly to herself, heart aching.
 
Reluctantly, she slowly but determinedly broke her fast until the tray was
completely empty of food. She did feel slightly better with her belly full, she
realised later as she let Anna dress her in a dark green velvet gown.
 
“Lady Sophia was quite a bit older than you when she left the Westerlands to
marry but you’re filling her gown as nicely as she did,” the maid commented,
her hands busily tightening the laces at Sansa’s back. The garb had seen better
days, judging by the worn patches of its skirt but its quality was undeniable.
“The color is perfect for you. Really goes well with your skin and hair,
m’lady.”
 
She did look pretty in dark green, Sansa admitted to herself as she admired her
reflection in the large mirror that adorned the wall; however her beauty was
diminished by the redness of her eyes and the dull, puffy skin that surrounded
them. I look so tired, she mused with despair but the old maid was apparently
not agreeing with her.
 
“You’re very beautiful, m’lady. Sit here; I’ll brush that thick hair of yours,”
she said in a motherly tone while gently pushing Sansa into a large cushioned
chair.
 
Obediently, the young girl settled herself and shut her eyes, letting the
pleasant feeling of the wooden brush soothe her for a short time as it combed
through her wild curls.
 
“This is a very important day for you, m’lady. You’re going to be reunited with
your family! I would be so happy if I were you,” the old maiden joyfully told
her as she began to braid the long hair.
 
Sansa was so drained, she didn’t even have the energy to explain that Hornvale
was more than a day’s ride from the Golden Tooth and that she would therefore
most likely not be with her family for another two or three days but what would
be the use anyway?
 
“I am indeed excited, Anna. I thank you,” Sansa recited with fake enthusiasm. I
should be happy… How can I be so morose when I’m so near my year-long dream?
 
Biting her lip, Sansa lowered her gaze on her anxious hands. She did know the
answer to that question. Sandor… She couldn’t lose him.
 
Her previous evening with the Hound had been a total disaster… To begin with,
she had been sick with worry as soon as she and Sandor had met with Lord
Richard Brax. The notion that the Hound’s treason might be uncovered had truly
terrified her and she had held her breath all the way to the castle.
Thankfully, it had soon been evident that the Braxs were ignorant on the
matter, yet another worry had shortly replaced the previous one at the head of
Sansa’s list. Lord Richard, in his blind generosity, had offered to provide
them with an escort to the Golden Tooth. How could Sandor have accepted? Sansa
had wondered from the moment she had grasped what it meant. Hadn’t he realised
that their days of intimacy would be as good as over if he did? Lord Richard
didn’t give him much of a choice, Sansa reasoned, although she was still
slightly bitter that he hadn’t fought harder to be rid of these unwanted
additions to their party. Once at the castle, Anna had led her to her chamber,
away from Sandor and Sansa had waited long hours for him, struggling not to
shed tears whenever she remembered how their situation had so cruelly been
transformed almost in the blink of an eye. One moment, they had been two lovers
secluded from the rest of the universe and the next, they had been surrounded
by strangers and compelled to act as if they were no more than a prisoner and
her gaoler. She needed to talk to him and badly before their departure on the
morrow! Both of them would have to agree on their plan of action, she believed,
so that once the exchange took place they’d be on the same page. I was so
certain he would agree to become my sworn shield and trust me to convince my
family… but naught went well again.
 
Reality wasalways so much harsher than dreams and while the Hound might have
become her knight, he was still the same rabid beast she had always known him
to be. Only broaching the subject of their futurehad proven a challengeto
Sansa. As much as she loved him, she still felt intimidated by his imposing
presence and she had been fearful of his reaction, with excellent reasons she
had learned. The well thought out words she had repeated to herself all
afternoon had all escaped her mind when she had finally gotten his attention
and she had used the language of a stupid child instead. No wonder he had
spurned her idea as soon as he had heard it, temper rising. His response had
affected her so that she had not been able to hold back her tears, only then
the weirdest thing had arisen. All of a sudden, the Hound’s mood had
dramatically changed and he was asking her to follow him to the Free Cities,
begging even… She had been so completely overwhelmed by the intensity and
urgency in his voice, by the passion of his caresses and kisses that she had
almost said yes, that she had been ready for a dizzying moment to surrender
herself to him completely – body and soul but then she had remembered how close
she was to Riverrun’s doorstep. How could she flee just now, when she had
almost reached the goal she had so desperately prayed for over more than a
year? She had longed for the safety of her mother’s arms for moons and moons;
she couldn’t possibly turn back now! Her destiny was with her family and she
also had a duty to fulfill in the North. How could she flee across the Narrow
Sea in these conditions? They could not desert like that, she had thought, and
thus she had tried once more to bring the Hound to understand but he had been
stubborn as a dog holding a bone between its teeth and hadn’t given one inch of
his previous resolution. Even worse, Sandor had become blank and unresponsive
and put distance between them, glaring in her direction for Sansa didn’t know
how long before abruptly abandoning her.
 
It was still so early when he had left and thus Sansa had had hours to spend by
herself, crying miserably and hugging herself while she should’ve been cradled
in her protector’s arms. Many times, she had considered joining him in his room
and attempting to explain herself once more but she had never gathered the
courage to face him. I probably should have gone, she thought regretfully;
Sansa was distressingly afraid that she might not have the chance to pick up
the pieces before they left the castle. Was Sandor still mad at her?He has
probably taken my refusal to follow him as rejection... Was it a mistake on my
part? Will I come to bewail my choice if I lose him because of this? I love
him… I need him!Still, Sansa could not truly regret the decision she had made;
her place was with her family after all. And the Hound’s place is by my side,
with meandthem.In spite of what he had said, Sansa was still convinced that she
could persuade her mother that Sandor was worthy enough to be her sworn shield;
the only problem was that she had to sway him first…
 
“You’re all set, m’lady,” the maid suddenly announced, taking Sansa out of her
musing.
 
“I thank you, Anna. I think I’ll go wait outside in the yard for my escort to
be ready. I… I need some air.”
 
“That’s good, m’lady. Farewell!” the woman said warmly as she began to gather
the linens from the bed.
 
“Farewell to you too, Anna,” Sansa responded while opening the door and
striding out of the room.
 
She had hoped that Sandor might still be in his chamber but that had been a
foolish notion; he was not the kind of man to linger in bed longer than
necessary. His door was wide open when she reached it, exposing its cruel
emptiness to her eyes. She stood on its step for a moment, not sure why, gazing
at nothing in particular until something caught her eyes. On the small table
next to the bed, the Hound’s infamous helm was settled in such a way that she
almost felt that it was staring straight back at her. Some incomprehensible
impulse drove her toward it and she slowly walked in its direction. Carefully,
she began caressing it with the tip of her fingers, tracing the lines of its
mean-looking snarl.  
 
“What are you doing?” the Hound’s rasping voice resounded from behind her.
Sansa jumped and turned around, flushed and as guilty-looking as if she had
been caught stealing gold from his purse.
 
“I… I was searching for you,” she answered, nervous and gawping.
 
Sandor snorted. “Well, here I am,” he said mockingly, a smirk on his face as he
slowly approached her.
 
His voice sounded queer, Sansa noticed, even his walk was somewhat less assured
than usual. He… he looks drunk!she realised with stupefaction, eyes grown wide.
Had he been drinking all night? She instinctively took a step backward, almost
falling over the bed when she bumped into it.
 
Her evident consternation appeared to amuse him. “Never seen a drunken man
before, little bird?” he scoffed, sniggering roughly. “You were looking for me,
weren’t you?” the man added, suddenly serious. “Speak,” he ordered dryly,
slowly stepping toward her.
 
Sansa’s bottom lip trembled for an instant but then she took a deep breath and
gathered her courage. “Sandor, please! Don’t be angry… I’m so sorry for
yesterday, I-”
 
“Stop that, Sansa,” he cut her, face darkening and voice as sharp as valyrian
steel. “You know you don’t have a single fucking thing to reproach yourself
for.”
 
They were now less than an arm’s length from each other and Sansa could smell
the wine on his breath. It didn’t repel her though; all she desired was to jump
into his arms but she was too frightened that he might reject her. “But then…
why did you leave so abruptly?” she asked instead in a tremulous whisper.
 
Jaw clenched, Sandor glared down at her, mouth twitching slightly and eyes
narrowed with contempt. They both stood in place for a long and awkward moment
until the Hound finally broke the silence with a grunt and shook his head.
“Let’s forget about that bloody affair, girl. We need be going now,” he hissed,
irritation plain, before he walked away from Sansa and went to grab his helm.
 
Without thinking, the girl threw herself at him, hands clutching at his armour.
“No, Sandor! Please, listen to me!” she cried out.
 
Eyes wide, the Hound stared down at her with evident shock. “Hush, girl! Do you
want to alert the whole buggering castle or what?” he rasped lowly, hands
raised to her shoulders, more to push her away than to comfort her. “What would
the Braxs think if they caught you clinging at me like that?” he asked, his
fingers digging painfully into her upper arms as he kept her at a safe distance
from him.
 
Sansa didn’t know how to answer. She was shocked by the intensity of her own
response and felt pathetic for acting so very unladylike, but at the same time
the pang in her heart was so agonizing that she had had no way to control
herself. Shame was creeping up on her now and her cheeks were burning red.
Sansa dared not look at Sandor just then; she kept her gaze lowered, willing
the warm tears that were pooling in her eyes to stay in place but it was no use
of course.
 
Sighing deeply, the Hound appeared to relax. He snorted and began talking
again, this time less harshly. “Look at you, crying again,” he muttered with
some annoyance as he removed his hands from Sansa’s arms. Warm calloused
fingers brushed against her face and the young girl instantly jerked her head
up, her eyes popping open. “Shhh, you’ll be fine, little bird. No need to weep.
I’m bringing you back home, remember?” Sandor murmured flatly, a mix of
resignation, mockery and gentleness in his voice while drying the wetness on
her cheeks.
 
The gesture was everything Sansa had hoped for ever since yesterday when he had
left her room but instead of giving her strength, it broke her down completely
and her quiet tears abruptly morphed into sobs. “Oh, Sandor!” she cried as she
reached for him. The Hound didn’t reject her this time. His arms went snaking
around her, one circling her waist, the other grabbing her over the shoulders,
hand in her hair. They stayed like that for a long, long time and didn’t move
so much as an inch until their peace was abruptly disturbed by the sound of
footstep resounding in the corridor. Immediately, the Hound pushed Sansa from
him and swept his gaze around himself as if he was hoping for a way out. There
weren’t any, evidently and thus he went to retrieve his helm instead.
 
“Seven bloody Hells,” he hissed between his teeth just before the door opened.
 
The same retainer they had met on the road the previous day appeared on its
step. His eyes grew wide when his stare fell on Sansa but he didn’t dare say a
word about the impropriety of the situation. “Everything is set, Clegane. We’re
all ready to go,” he declared uneasily after a moment of hesitation.
 
“That’s good,” the Hound answered without real enthusiasm. His features were
unreadable when he turned toward Sansa. “Come, girl. Let’s not lose more time.”
 
Too shaken to disobey, Sansa wordlessly followed. Anyhow, she really couldn’t
talk before this stranger. What must he be thinking? she wondered, horrified.
 
Four men were waiting for them in the yard apart from Lord Richard when they
arrived. Todd, the retainer that had just surprised them was also to be part of
their escort and thus they would be seven in total including Sansa. Now, I
truly won’t have any chance to speak to Sandor again, she realised with
apprehension, struggling to keep calm as she ought to. 
 
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Sansa, although I didn’t have the honour
to speak to you very much. Perhaps one day, when the war is over, we’ll find an
occasion to meet again under better circumstances,” Lord Brax declared
pleasantly.
 
“Perhaps. Farewell, my lord,” she answered humbly, eyes lowered.
 
“Farewell, Lady Sansa,” the man replied, kissing her hand.
 
Without a word of warning, Sandor slid his hands around Sansa’s waist and
lifted her onto the back of the horse the Braxs were lending her. She tried to
catch his eyes as he did so but he didn’t so much as glance back at her. Biting
her lip, the girl was beginning to lose hope that he would ever give her a
single sign that he cared for her again when she felt one of his hands linger
against her side and discreetly stroke her there. His fingers were gone before
Sansa had the time to smile but the gesture was enough to warm her heart and
give her a whole new strength. She watched the Hound with emotion as he jumped
on Stranger’s saddle and a moment later, their group was out of the yard and
moving toward the Golden Tooth in silence.
 
 
****
 
It had been three long days of intense riding but the last part of Sansa’s
journey across the realm was now almost complete. With every passing minute,
the Golden Tooth was getting nearer and the grins of the men of Sansa’s escort
broader. Only an hour separated them from the place, or so the Braxs’ retainers
kept repeating with newfound enthusiasm. Sansa herself was torn between
excitement at seeing her family and intense anxiety about what was to become of
her protector. She and Sandor still hadn’t had the occasion to clear up their
disagreement and concur on a plan to follow once they got to the exchange
point. On the other hand, she had caught him staring at her more than once,
mostly late at night when everyone was asleep and they even had shared a few
secret touches but that was certainly not enough to reassure her completely
about his intentions. What if he fled before she got the chance to plead in his
favour? He had to trust her, trust that she could convince her mother and
brother to give him a place among them but how could she make him understand
when they never had a moment to themselves? That was her torment and she had
had no cure against it ever since they left Hornvale.
 
Now, each minute was stumbling into the next and the pressure was building in
her like a fire ready to implode. Notwithstanding all that, Sansa had managed
to construct some sort of a plan. It wasn’t a very elaborate one - she had
never been the crafty type - but with the help of the gods she infinitely
counted upon she had good hopes that everything would work out fine. After all,
simplicity was the most honest of allies, her father had once told her.
Rapidity would nevertheless be needed in order to succeed and therefore as soon
as she got to the meeting place, Sansa would immediately seek her mother and
beg her for a private moment to speak. She knew the words and arguments that
would persuade her best and had recited them inwardly more times than she could
count. Wouldn’t the Hound be an asset for the whole North with his inside
knowledge of the enemy? Wouldn’t he be the fiercest protector a maiden could
ever dream of having? Almost obsessively, Sansa kept reconstructing the
sentences she would use and replaying the oncoming events in her mind as she
figured they should take place, brooding over them, turning them upside down…
it was getting dizzying as much as it was recurrent but there was no stopping
her. Her mind was spinning with anticipation.
 
“We’re getting there, I think,” a man suddenly declared as Sansa was trying to
figure out for the thousandth time how her lady mother would react to her
request.
 
Too distracted by her musing, Sansa had not seen time fly and so she instantly
jumped into her saddle and anxiously peered before her when she heard the call.
Squinting against the sun, she glimpsed a gathering of soldiers hidden behind a
line of trees. They were still far but not enough that she could not discern
the group. They were less than a hundred to be sure; still, their number was
imposing in contrast to her own meagre escort. As was to be expected of a
secret mission such as theirs, no banners were visible anywhere but there was
no mistaking that Sansa and the Braxs’ men had reached their objective.Here we
are,she reflected, her excitement clouded by no negligible measure of dread.
Taking a deep breath, she jerked her head around to gaze one last time at
Sandor. If she had hoped to gather some courage from him, she was cruelly
disillusioned; the man didn’t as much as glance her way. She would need to find
the strength she desperately needed inside herself and nowhere else.
 
It took less than a minute before Sansa’s group, no matter how small, was
spotted by the larger one. Hostile gazes turned toward them, quickly followed
by a general movement of the crowd. In a heartbeat, they were surrounded almost
threateningly by the large and noisy party and Sansa - although those people
were her own - felt as insecure as if she were a Westerlander herself and about
to be taken by foes. The din was overwhelming; horses were snorting, neighing
and turning around nervously while their masters tried to control them with
violent pulls of their reins. Confusion was mingling with the shattering
impression of entrapment in the most unpleasant fashion and Sansa was starting
to feel as panicked as a caged animal. A caged bird,she distractedly corrected
herself. Thankfully, not a man made to attack and it became clear after several
moments of fear that no ill would befall them. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was
thick with animosity; the two groups of men were shamelessly gauging the force
of the other as any mortal enemies would do. After what appeared like an
eternity, the movement of the press receded and all the beasts became quiet
again. Every man was silent as a grave and waiting. Where are they? Sansa
wondered, while sweeping her gaze over the soldiers in desperate search of her
mother or brother. Fear that these weren’t her family’s bannermen after all and
that they had fallen into a trap was just beginning to creep over her when the
crowd opened to let a small group of riders pass. In its center, a middle-aged
man garbed in black scale armour stood proud and tall over his mount.
 
“Sansa!” he exclaimed with undeniable relief as he halted his horse. “You don’t
know me, but I’ve heard plenty of you. You probably also have a notion of who I
am…”
 
She did. The Blackfish! Sansa realised, smiling genuinely for the first time on
that day.It was undoubtedly her great uncle; her mother had told her so much
about him! She had to hold herself back from jumping from her horse and running
to him even though she had never met him before. As much as the notion of
family was enticing after moons of loneliness at the Red Keep, where were her
mother and brother?
 
“You must be my great uncle, Brynden Tully. I know the love my lady mother has
for you, but… if you don’t mind me saying so, I can’t help but wonder where she
is.”
 
The Blackfish smiled sadly at her. “A lot of things have taken place lately. A
few of which I prefer not to discuss before your escort. Anyhow, I think I can
inform you of my brother– your grandfather’s - sickness. He’s rapidly perishing
and soon the Stranger will come for him. Lady Catelyn didn’t have the heart to
leave Riverrun in such times although she truly wished to be here for you. Your
brother the king was also unfortunately not able to make it but they both sent
me to welcome you back. I hope you’re not too disappointed. They nonetheless
should be all in Riverrun when we get there and you can rest assured that
they’ll be eagerly waiting for your return.”
 
“Oh, I see,” Sansa whispered, barely masking her dejection. Life was as it was
and she could surely understand that other more important matters had
manifested themselves. Still this was unsettling. For so long she had dreamed
of that reunion and never had it occurred to her that her mother wouldn’t be
there to witness it. She was about to accept the situation, when her eyes
widened in horror.But then if my mother’s not here, how will I ever manage to
plead on Sandor’s behalf?!
 
“This is all good,” yelled Todd from behind her before she even had a chance to
utter a single word. “However, where’s Jaime Lannister? No exchange can occur
without him!”
 
“You’re right,” answered the Blackfish with some annoyance. “Bring the
Kingslayer!” he ordered wryly while turning his horse around to face his men.
 
The crowd opened again and another group of riders strode toward them, a
mounted prisoner held tightly in its center. Sansa had seen the man before; he
had always been so beautiful and graceful to her, the very image of the knights
from the songs. Now, he was dirty and ragged, a sandy blond beard covering his
face but he managed to keep some grace and dignity, even tied to his horse as
he was.
 
“Here he is. All in one piece. You can even count his teeth if you like,”
Brynden Tully mockingly proposed for everyone to hear. The Westerlanders were
grinning, evidently pleased and therefore, the Blackfish continued. “I surmise
everyone is satisfied. We may proceed and go our separate ways if you all
agree,” he added, looking around.
 
At that moment, Sansa’s mouth opened to protest but the words were stuck in her
throat. What am I to do to stop this?! she wondered in utter alarm. She
couldn’t supplicate anyone. She had never even encountered her great uncle once
before. How could she ever convince him in such a situation? All her carefully
planned out schemes were crumbing once again.
 
The Tully men were starting to push Jaime Lannister forward and Sansa’s escort
was approaching her when a shout was heard from behind them.
 
“Hold on!” a hoarse voice yelled. Everyone froze and turned around to see the
Hound advancing toward the Blackfish. “I was asked by King Joffrey to bring
Lady Sansa to her family, which had meant her mother or her brother but not
you, Blackfish.”
 
Sansa’s great uncle’s face twisted in displeasure. “The Kingslayer’s here and
we’ve got Lady Sansa, so I don’t see your complaint, Hound,” he snapped,
obviously annoyed. People were whispering around them, some obviously content
to witness the altercation, some anxious that the exchange was about to sour.
 
“I had a mission. Bring the Stark girl to her brother or mother, they told me.
He’s not here, neither is she. I can’t let Lady Sansa go in these conditions.”
 
The Blackfish sighed, disbelief plain. “So what are we to do then? Wait for
them to appear? Send them a bird so that they come?!”
 
The Hound’s mouth twitched but apart from that, his face was as expressionless
as a rock. “Perhaps. I don’t mind how it takes place really but I won’t let her
go to you nor to any of your buggers here. I need her mother, or the bloody
king in the North and naught else. No arguments.” 
 
“You’re overzealous, Clegane,” Jaime Lannister managed to interject. “I can’t
imagine the king or my queenly sister truly care about those details,” he said
before he got shut down by his guards.
 
“The Kingslayer’s right, Clegane,” Brynden Tully agreed, threat in his voice.
“This argument is ridiculous.”
 
Snorting, the Hound narrowed his eyes. “I’m following orders, that’s all and I
don’t ever question them. So, where are Lady Stark and that prodigal son of
hers, tell me please?” he asked as he seized Sansa’s reins to make certain no
one would try to steal her away.
 
With a deep sigh, Sansa’s great uncle glanced around him to find accord among
his group. “As you probably have already figured, they won’t be coming here any
time soon.” Evidently irritated the man continued, “So what are we to do? Bring
you to Riverrun with the rest of us so that you can witness the Lady Sansa’s
poignant reunion with her mother?!” he jested.
 
The Hound didn’t flinch. “If that’s what it takes,” he answered flatly.
 
“I’m not going back there, Clegane! Stop this foolishness!” Jaime Lannister
complained before his guards silenced him again.
 
“This is none of your business, Kingslayer,” Sansa heard one of them snarl at
him.
 
For a long moment, the Blackfish glowered to himself but then he muttered with
obvious lack of conviction, “If that’s what it takes then come with us, Hound.”
 
Jamie Lannister’s eyes grew wide with dread at that instant and he would
undoubtedly have groused again if he had not been surrounded by such an
unfriendly convoy.
 
“Well then, let’s not lose any time,” the Blackfish growled. “I do hope your
men have all they need because we don’t have a single drop of water or crumb of
bread to spare,” Brynden Tully hissed, glaring at Sandor.
 
The burnt corner of his mouth curling in contempt, the Hound snorted. “None of
us here are beggars so don’t you lose time worrying. Anyhow, my men won’t be
following us,” he objected. “They’ll be escorting Ser Jaime back to Casterly
Rock and I’ll be following you to Riverrun by myself and that will be it. Does
that sound fair enough to you, Blackfish?”
 
The silence on the field was overpowering at that moment; Sansa could hear
birds chirping in the distance. No one dared to speak, not even Jaime Lannister
although his guards had loosened their grip on him. 
 
“Well, this is certainly queer but I won’t object… although if you truly want
to travel with us, Clegane, we won’t abide you being armed among us.” The
Blackfish said the words threateningly, approaching Sandor as he spoke them.
“Surrender your weapons, Hound, and you can follow. Otherwise, you can continue
on your way toward the Westerlands with these folks.”
 
Sansa stared at the Hound, too stunned by the turn of events to even consider
if she was being improper. There was no doubting that Sandor had created such a
spectacle only to stay with her, was there? Her nerves were on the verge of
breaking down. He truly had done all that only to give her the opportunity to
plead with her mother on his behalf… She was moved to tears at the thought but
still, would he agree to surrender his sword? That was not likely; Sandor was a
proud warrior and had always been armed ever since she met him. Sansa was so
nervous at that instant; she felt as if her heart was about to jump out of her
throat.
 
For a long time, the Hound glowered at her great uncle with evident animosity,
clearly uncomfortable with the turn of events but after an interminable wait,
he sighed and reached for his sword. “If those are the terms, I’ll take them. I
have no choice anyhow.” He unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to the
Blackfish. “Take it before I change my mind.” The older man immediately seized
the weapon and passed it to one of the men beside him. “You’ll want my bloody
dagger as well, I reckon? Here, take it,” Sandor snarled as he tossed the
blade.
 
“You have anything else, Clegane?” Brynden Tully asked. Without even waiting
for an answer, he sent one of his crew to go through the Hound’s saddlebag and
then went as far as to require that he get off his stallion and be searched
from top to bottom.
 
By some miracle, Sandor didn’t complain throughout the whole process although
it was plain as day that he wanted naught else than to kill the man who had
been given the strenuous duty. He didn’t though and only once it was all over
with did Sansa’s heart begin beating normally again. Instinctively, her lips
curled into the smallest of smiles. The Hound caught it as he glanced at her;
his eyes gleamed with something like resentment then but Sansa could also see
longing shining in them. If only she could tell him how grateful she was, kiss
him and hold him to show him what a good choice he had made… unfortunately it
was impossible; all she could do was politely watch him as he jumped on
Stranger’s back.
 
“We wish you the best, Lady Sansa,” Todd stated, head bowed before the rest of
his group saluted her one by one.
 
Sandor only nodded at them when they gave him their farewells. The men then
went to Jaime Lannister and untied him from his horse.
 
 “So you won’t be coming with us, Clegane,” Joffrey’s uncle said as he rubbed
his sore wrist where the rope had been. “Be sure to stop by Casterly Rock once
you’re done delivering the young Lady Stark. I’d definitely benefit from a
decent jousting partner if I wish to get some of my form back before I return
to King’s Landing.”
 
“Aye, I’ll stop by,” the Hound answered with nonchalance before turning his
horse around. Facing Brynden Tully, he rasped, “You want to sleep here tonight,
Blackfish?”
 
The man didn’t reply. Instead he wordlessly gazed around him and everyone began
moving in silent understanding. A moment later, they were all on their way
again.
 
****
 
 
Here it is,Sansa breathed to herself. Riverrun, the seat of House Tully was
right in front of her. Sansa had heard so much of the place; in truth, setting
eyes on the proud castle had been one of her lifelong dreams and the sight was
definitely impressive. The location was even more spectacular than she had
expected. The way the fortress took root in the lively flow of water, stone
rising from the river itself was breathtaking. It had taken about a sennight
for them to get here, a sennight during which Sansa had gotten to know her
great uncle slightly better but during which she also had not had even a single
chance to speak to Sandor. The Hound hadn’t travelled by her side; he had been
kept at the other end of the column and had always been surrounded by the same
group of men that had guarded Jaime Lannister. The only element that
differentiated his situation from the one of their previous prisoner was that
he had not been tied to his horse but he was no more than a captive really. The
man wasn’t free to move about as he willed and Sansa had felt her throat
tighten every time she had reflected upon it. Everything will change very
soon,she mused as she stared at Riverrun with both hope and apprehension.
 
As they steadily approached the castle, Sansa could discern men watching them
from over the high towers and then suddenly, the great drawbridge was brought
down. A moment later, a group of people appeared over the wooden structure.
Between them, Sansa noticed a tall woman, auburn hair flying in the wind.
 
“Mother!” she gasped under her breath. Without thinking, she brought her horse
to a gallop, not able to resist the impulse.
 
The woman ran toward her. When she was near enough, Sansa jumped from her mount
and sprinted to her.
 
“Sansa!” her lady mother cried.
 
Was all of this truly taking place? Was this one of Sansa’s foolish dreams
again? She was probably about to wake in her bed in Maegor’s Holdfast.
 
“Oh my little girl!” her mother cried as she slid her arms around her.
 
I’m not dreaming…Sansa realised in a confusing mix of emotions where supreme
happiness ultimately won over the rest.
 
Wetness was covering her cheeks but that didn’t matter. Her mother was holding
her, tenderly caressing her hair with motherly love and her sweet and
comforting scent was making Sansa feel right at home, at long last!Everything
would be right from now on. Everything!
 
After a long moment, they both loosened their embrace and her mother jerked her
head back to gaze at her. “You’ve grown so much, Sansa… Look at you!” she
murmured, tears rolling down her cheeks.
 
She looks so much like me! Sansa realised. She had always known but seeing her
again after so long truly made her notice the truth of it. I’m finally where I
belong.
 
Overwhelmed as she had been by the reunion, Sansa hadn’t even noticed that her
brother had joined them.
 
“Sansa!” Robb exclaimed when he was near enough. The young girl instantly left
her mother to jump into his arms.
 
Words were not needed; Sansa could read the love in his eyes. She had almost
forgotten how it felt to be surrounded by family, by people who truly loved her
and cared about her. They all stayed together, hugging one another in front of
the castle for Sansa didn’t know nor care how long but then the Blackfish spoke
and reality cruelly returned to her.
 
“I’m happy to see you all reunited, my niece. The whole process has taken
longer than we had planned but everything went well nonetheless,” he said,
addressing Lady Catelyn while smiling softly. As if he had suddenly remembered
something unpleasant, Brynden Tully frowned and turned his horse around. “So,
Hound. Are you satisfied?” he spat as he approached Sandor. Sansa instantly
lost her smile.
 
The Hound and his guards were slowly nearing the Blackfish. Emotionlessly
glancing at Sansa for a second, the man quickly averted his eyes. “Aye, I am,”
was his lone reply.
 
“You were with him, Sansa?” the girl’s mother whispered in her ear while
squeezing her arm as if she believed being with such a man was the worst ordeal
imaginable.
 
Sansa nodded, feeling a pang go though her core. She desperately wanted to
scream her love for him for everyone to witness at that very instant but knew
how wrong that would’ve been. Tears pooled in her eyes as she realised just how
difficult making her point would prove.
 
“It’s all over now, don’t you worry, my sweet daughter,” Sansa’s mother
whispered softly, totally misunderstanding her distress.
 
No! It’s nothing like that!Sansa longed to tell her but everything seemed so
much more complicated than she had envisioned.
 
“Well then, you may go and rejoin your masters in King’s Landing, or Casterly
Rock where the Kingslayer is, for all it matters to me,” the Blackfish told
Sandor, disgust in his voice. “Where are the Hound’s weapons?” he then asked
one of his men.
 
“Wait!” Sansa heard herself protest. Everyone turned toward her. “He won’t have
any food left, I’m sure…” Shyness taking over her, she continued less loudly.
“We can’t let him go without giving him at least a few days to rest at the
castle.”
 
Both Robb and her mother gazed at her with doubt.
 
“Mother, I assure you he’s been naught but good to me throughout our journey.
It would be very ungrateful to let him go like this,” Sansa pleaded. “Robb?”
she added looking at her brother when she lost hope of swaying her mother.
“He’s harmless without his sword. I swear it.”
 
“Harmless? The Hound?!” he exclaimed with a mirthless laugh. His stare gave no
sign of ceding but as he gazed at his sister’s resolute look, he finally
yielded. 
 
“Very well. We’ll give him four days to rest and not one more.” Sansa sighed in
relief. “But that’s all you’ll get from us, Hound,” Robb added, glaring at
Sandor.  “And don’t you ever dare say the North has no mercy afterwards.”
 
Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Sandor nonetheless bowed his head slightly. “I
won’t ever say such, Your Grace.”
 
Sansa breathed. That was as much as she could hope to get from the Hound. For
now. I’ll make him bend the knee to my brother. He’ll do it once he understands
that he’ll get to stay by my side if he does. She would need to convince him
first though; and her mother and brother as well. In four days anything was
possible, wasn’t it?
 
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey everyone!
     I knoooow, it’s been so long seen I last updated! Almost two fucking
     months!!! I have a very good reason though: school of course (the
     bitch). Thankfully I’m done now and can return to my regular life of
     laziness and writing SanSan fics … Yeaaaah!!! :D
     I had originally planned for this chapter to be much longer but
     decided to cut it in two and post this earlier. So this adds an extra
     chapter to the one remaining and therefore after this one, there
     should be about three other chapters.
     I promise the next one won’t take as long!
                                    Sandor
 
I’ve been a fool, a fool all along, Sandor mused, hands clenched so tightly
over the great balcony’s railing that his knuckles had almost turned white.
From where he stood, he could easily spy Sansa, smiling and giggling with a
young northerner wench as she demurely sat in a sunny corner of the yard.
Already forgotten your old, ugly hound, little bird? He snorted bitterly to
himself, his gaze leaving her to fall over a group of young men instead. The
buggers had kept turning up around the two girls throughout the afternoon and
Sandor had had to hold himself back from striding down the stairs and killing
the lot of them with his bare hands more times than he could count. He couldn’t
stand having to watch from afar as the little bird blushed and smiled so very
shyly and sweetly while these lads filled her head with their empty talk. It
used to be you she gave her laughter and attention to, dog,Sandor repeated to
himself once more. Should he truly be surprised that she’d prefer these buggers
to him? He didn’t have much to offer, especially now that he was a deserter and
he was ugly and coarse where his new rivals were good looking and refined. Good
looking and refined, he mocked, a contemptuous sneer forming on his face. It
won’t serve them much if I change my mind and decide to kill them after all.
Sandor could almost envision the ease with which he would disarm them, crush
their pretty white teeth, cut their bowels open with their own weapons… It was
all too tempting, however the King in the North had had the sense to burden
Sandor with a group of seasoned warriors for guards. Furtively, the man glanced
in their direction. The four of them were leaning against the wall,
distractedly watching him but Sandor was not fooled; they’d cut his throat the
minute he made a wrong move. All the better. I’m not likely to fight off each
and every bloody retainer and soldier that crowds Riverrun anyhow and there’d
be no sense in killing just a few.
 
For the last three days, Sandor had wandered with no purpose throughout the
castle, waiting with no hope for something that would never happen.The little
bird’s promises are worth no more than their chirping,the man concluded
bitterly. Only halfwits listened to the songs of birds, believing some truth
lay hidden there. Was he really no better than a village idiot to have fallen
for such a mirage? Becoming her buggering sworn shield.  Did I truly let the
fucking derisory dreams of a maiden contaminate me? As evening approached and
light grew fainter, Sandor’s contempt for himself was gradually turning into
wrath at the whole world but he strangely couldn’t seem to extend his loathing
to Sansa, although she was certainly the cause of the torture he had to endure.
On the contrary, his obsession for the girl was apparently getting stronger
with each passing minute and he doubted that anything would ever stop that.
Even now, he couldn’t refrain from drinking in the sight of her…
 
The little bird was garbed in a pretty gown, blue and red with some silver
embroidery here and there. Sandor had not an ounce of interest in fancy cloth
or any of the useless tat women were so passionate about but he could
appreciate a dress when it fitted nicely, especially if it was the little
bird’s curves that were hugged so perfectly. I’d best stop staring at her, or
else my valiant guards will soon start wondering at my interest in their lady’s
daughter,Sandor reluctantly decided, although he scarcely could think of
anything else he might do to pass the time.
 
The chamber he had been lent was just a few steps from where he stood and when
he was inside, he only had to open its door to see the yard again. Lying on the
pallet, the outdoor sounds were so clear that with his eyes shut, Sandor might
have believed he was actually sleeping in the middle of the yard. The previous
morning, he had even been awoken by the girl’s laughter… the place was no safe
haven, far from it, but where was he to go? At least once inside he wouldn’t
truly see her and perhaps if he drank enough wine, he’d manage to forget she
was so near. You’re more naïve than the damned girl if you believe that, dog,
Sandor scornfully thought to himself before abruptly turning around and heading
for his room anyway. His guards lazily moved aside to let him pass, exchanging
glares with him as they did so. Spitting on the floor beside them, Sandor
narrowed his eyes at them, opened the door and clattered into the dark chamber.
With more force than necessary, he slammed the door behind him but for all the
noise it made, it only rebounded against the threshold and stayed ajar.
Cursing, Sandor pushed it shut more carefully this time, wishing he could lock
himself in but his guards had deemed it safer to remove the bolt. How the hells
is a locked door supposed to represent any threat?  Sandor wondered with the
same annoyance he felt anytime his gaolers were on his mind. The bastards were
probably enjoying the control they exerted over him; having held such power
over the Hound – even for just a few days - wasn’t something many could boast
about and they were apparently making the most of it.
 
Sitting on the edge of the pallet, Sandor grabbed the wineskin that waited on
the small table beside it and took a long, thirsty sip from it. At least the
Tullys had been generous where Dornish red was concerned; their servants had
stashed more bottles in his chamber than a normal man could hope to drink in a
fortnight. Was his love of the bottle that renowned? Or mayhap, it was the
little bird who had demanded those to be brought up… The little bird…There she
was again, always in the back of his mind. Would he ever be rid of her?
 
You stupid dog. You’ve done everything you possibly could never to forget her
and now you pity yourself? No one coerced you to accept that buggering mission
to deliver the girl to her family but you nevertheless volunteered right away,
too eager to be the one she’d be thankful to, all the while dreading the moment
she’d fly too far from your grasp, that you’d lose the hold you had on her, no
matter how insignificant it had been.The problem wasn’t so much that he had
desired the girl and found a way he might be alone with her; there was
certainly naught surprising about a man jumping at such a perfect occasion to
trap his prey.No, what bothered him was the weakness the girl had so easily
uncovered in him. After giving himself all the trouble he had, you’d think a
man like Sandor - who lusted for a maiden so high above his own station - would
gladly rape the girl or kidnap her once the moment was right. It was what logic
clearly commanded after all but for some inconceivable reason, he had preferred
to let her lead him and to respect her fucking wishes.
 
Would she be thankful for Sandor’s twice damnable restraint when her buggering
husband broke that precious maidenhead of hers a few years from now? He’d been
on the verge of taking her so many times… Why didn’t he do it? Why? He
should’ve been the one to tear the bloody piece of flesh, not the faceless,
nameless high lord she’d end up with.
 
Perhaps following in Gregor’s footsteps would’ve been a good plan in the end.
Killing and raping was the way to go. Sandor’s brother would never have stopped
himself from taking what he desired and he assuredly never had to suffer and
regret so fucking much. Hear me brother? I envy you now,Sandor admitted, jaw
clenched so tightly it almost hurt.   
 
Well, there was still wine and plenty of it. He’d be drinking until dawn came
and then, he’d leave that gods forsaken continent and the nightmare would
finally be over. Or perhaps, it will only truly begin…
 
 
                                     Sansa
                                        
The day had been a lovely one and while the air was definitely getting
chillier, the sun had been warm enough most of the time that Sansa hadn’t even
needed a cloak as long as she stayed out of the shade. She had made the most of
the afternoon by lazing in the yard and she felt invigorated for it, like a
flower that required the sun to bloom. It was nice being at Riverrun; the
castle would never be home as Winterfell had been but it had quickly stolen its
own place in her heart. She liked the soothing sound that resounded from the
Tumblestone and Red Fork rivers as they collided with the high walls, the
eternal mist that flew around them, reflecting the sunbeams in hundreds of tiny
rainbows and the fresh smell of water that filled the air. Most of all,
however, Sansa cherished the love she was surrounded with. Naught had ever felt
so right… although, there was still something lacking. Sandor,she missed him so
much! The uncertainty of his situation and the hostile way in which he was
treated were perhaps the only clouds darkening her happiness these days but it
was far from a negligible one. The knowledge that the man she loved would
inevitably be chased away if she didn’t act shortly was omnipresent – invading
Sansa’s every thought. It was always in the back of her mind, altering the
purity of her joy like a veil of nervousness through which she had to gaze at
the world. Notwithstanding all that, or mayhap for that exact reason, Sansa had
been unable to broach the subject with her mother and brother until now.
 
Time had flown so fast! During the first three nights, Sansa and her mother and
brother had tried to make up for the lost time; they had talked for hours,
laughed but most of all, cried in each other’s arms. The murder of her father,
the loss of her two younger brothers, the havoc at Winterfell, the
disappearance of Arya… all of these cruel events they had felt compelled to go
through once again, however painful the process had been. It wasn’t the same
though, to relive these excruciating episodes with her mother and Robb as both
of them understood firsthand the distress Sansa had had to go through. The same
way the wounded man cries in pain when the healer reopens his infected injury,
Sansa had suffered while she reawakened the horrific memories that crowded her
heart but as flesh needs to be freed of pus in order to heal, her soul had
required that she share its ache to be liberated from its shadows. As a result,
Sansa had quickly regained some measure of the peace she had once known before
she fell into the Lannisters’ claws but the process had been terribly draining.
Every day since her arrival, as night came, she had fallen asleep in her
mother’s chamber, exhausted by the strength of her own emotions.
 
In the midst of all this, Sansa hadn’t forgotten about Sandor but she had
always believed it wiser to wait until an appropriate time to bring him up,
only the moment had never seemed right and now, only one night remained until
the Hound had to go. I have no choice now; I need to act tonight,Sansa realised
for the tenth time since morning, heart pounding furiously. Only thinking about
the upcoming discussion she would need to share with her family made her shiver
with anticipation and anxiety but she was determined not to let Sandor down.
 
On several occasions since their arrival, she had glimpsed the man staring at
her from afar, surrounded by his guards. As always, he had worn his customary
scowl, however as Sansa had learned to read him to some extent throughout their
journey, she had had no doubt that he had wished naught more than to reach for
her in those moments, to touch her and kiss her. It had been impossible of
course; all of Sandor’s movements had been closely watched from the moment he
had stepped through Riverrun’s entrance. Needless to say, no contact had been
allowed between them and it was driving Sansa crazy. She missed him so much! It
was even more unbearable that he was never truly far from her. Even now, she
could see him wandering over the balcony that circled around the yard and
although the man kept his eyes averted most of the time, Sansa had felt his
gaze linger on her so often throughout the afternoon… it was insufferable! At
least Dacey Mormont, a daughter of Maege Mormont, was there to keep her
company. The older girl and she had met on the very first day she had arrived
at the castle and they had bonded immediately. Sansa admired her ways; while
Dacey was as accomplished and refined a lady as Sansa, that didn’t stop her
from wearing breeches and practicing sword fighting in the yard a few hours
every day. Arya would have loved her! A lady warrior; beautiful and elegant
while fierce and strong.  If only Sansa could be more like her…
 
A group of young men had spent the last hour circling around her and Dacey and
although Sansa was flattered by their obvious interest, none of them were a
match for the Hound in her eyes. There was a time when she would have been
charmed by their handsome looks and sweet words but now, all she could do was
compare them to Sandor. Small and weak: that’s how they looked next to him. How
could she ever be satiated with boys such as these now that she had known a man
as tall, strong and… manly as the Hound? Nevertheless, even as she reflected on
their lack of muscles, Sansa smiled at the young men. It was only courteous
after all.
 
“Your lady mother has arrived, Sansa,” Dacey said while Sansa was unconsciously
trying to find Sandor with her gaze. He was gone from the balcony, she realised
with a pang.
 
“Really?” she replied, lowering her eyes to find her mother instead.
 
“Sansa! Supper will be ready soon,” Lady Catelyn called joyfully when she was
near enough. “Let’s not make Robb wait.”
 
Throughout the last three days, the three of them had dined together every
night in Mother’s chambers – sometimes joined by Jeyne, Robb’s new wife - and
Sansa had cherished every moment of it. This evening would be much different
though as Sansa had an extra burden on her shoulders. Nevertheless, she smiled
while she stood up to meet her mother.
 
“I’m coming, Mother!” she replied. Glancing back, she saluted her new friend.
“Good evening, Dacey!”
 
The tall girl grinned and waved at her.
 
Wrapping a hand around hers, Lady Catelyn kissed Sansa’s cheek and led her
toward the stairs. A moment later, they reached her chambers and joined Robb
who stood from his seat when he saw them. He’s so tall and handsome!Sansa
reflected while embracing him. She still couldn’t believe how much he had grown
since she had left her home more than a year ago but then again, she had
changed in many ways too.
 
A moment later, they were all settled around the table, eating their meal in a
comfortable silence but Sansa couldn’t help feeling anxiety build in her. It’s
now or never,she kept repeating to herself although no words seemed to find
their way past her lips.
 
“Are you going to be ready for our departure for the Twins five days from now?”
Robb muttered as he cut some venison from the large platter that sat in the
centre of the dinner table.
 
“I could leave tomorrow if you wished, Robb,” Sansa replied, eyes lowered to
her meal. The subject of her mother’s younger brother’s upcoming wedding to a
Frey maiden had been on everyone’s lips ever since her arrival.
 
“I’m very sorry that we can’t stay here a little while longer as you have just
arrived from such a long journey but some things simply can’t wait in times of
war… you could stay here if you preferred though; I already told you-”
 
“No, Robb!” Sansa cut him, forgetting her manners for once. “I want to go with
you and Mother and follow you to Winterfell afterwards. I miss our home so
much!”
 
“Sansa, I told you before I’d prefer you to stay at Riverrun,” Lady Catelyn
objected. “You wouldn’t be alone. Your great uncle will stay here, as well as
Robb’s wife-”
 
“But you wouldn’t be with me! I’m tired of being left behind! I want to be with
my family from now on,” Sansa stated with more vigour than she had intended.
Nevertheless, she kept her eyes raised to challenge them to object.
 
No one said a word. The discussion had been held before. Although both Robb and
Lady Catelyn resented Sansa’s decision, they also evidently respected her
newfound self-assurance. She was a woman grown now and had a right to decide
what risks she might take, especially when it involved her loyalty to her kin.
 
After a long moment of silence, Robb gave Sansa a small, sad smile. “You do
realise that the journey north won’t be an easy one? Of course, you and Mother
will be kept far from the heat of the battle; however they’ll be dangers
everywhere. The Ironborn will surround us from the moment we reach the Neck.”
 
“You already told me all about it, Robb,” Sansa reminded him, stubbornly
folding her arms. “I want to be with you when you get to Winterfell and nowhere
else.”
 
“So be it then,” the young man sighed, resigned at last. “I’ll make certain you
two are surrounded by an army of guards at all times though. I won’t risk your
safety more than necessary,” he added while severely eyeing both Sansa and
their mother.
 
Apparently as amused as she was annoyed by the show of authority, the latter
set her lips in a tight smile. “I’m very touched by your concern, Robb,” she
said, rolling her eyes. “It’s very sweet of you to worry so much for your old
mother.”
 
The retort seemed to embarrass Robb although he didn’t utter a word and only
returned his attention to his meal. Sansa made to do the same but the meagre
appetite she had had when she came to table had now completely vanished. She
felt as if her stomach was twisting against itself. Didn’t Robb mention he’d
very soon assure her protection by surrounding her with an army of guards?
Sansa knew only of one man she truly felt safe with. Sandor… I have to bring
the matter up… now!There was no other alternative, save for losing the very
last chance she had to ensure that her man would follow her on the long journey
North, Sansa told herself while nervously biting her bottom lip.
 
Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and raised her gaze to her mother.
Now! Say what you have to!she adjured herself but naught came out.
 
“Robb, my son, do you think Jeyne might be with child by now?” Lady Catelyn
asked, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them while pouring some sauce
over her turnip. “Although I think it for the best that she stays behind at
Riverrun, it does worry me that you don’t have an heir to protect your claim-”
 
“Mother!” Robb exclaimed, evidently irritated by the intrusion. His cheeks were
a boyish red and Sansa would have smiled at the sight if she had not been so
preoccupied. “You know I have no knowledge of such things. Only time will tell
but as you know all too well, we have none of it.” Scowling, the young man
looked aside and took a long sip out of his wine goblet.
 
It was already almost pitch dark outside, Sansa realised with dread as she
glanced furtively out the window. Now, I have to act. NOW!she repeated to
herself once more, her body as agitated as if she was about to jump from a
precipice.
 
“Mother. Robb,” she heard herself say.
 
They both turned around to look at her.
 
Sansa swallowed. “I… I wanted to talk to you about something…” she managed to
breathe, her sweaty hands clenching against one another in her lap. “The Hound…
he has protected me all along our journey through the Westerlands. I… I came to
appreciate him. He told me that he had no intention of returning to King’s
Landing once his mission was over.” Sansa could see her mother’s and brother’s
expression darkening but she continued nonetheless. “Perhaps he could stay with
us. I know he’d be an asset to the North; he has knowledge none of us have and
his skills as a warrior can’t be denied-”
 
“Sansa, this makes no sense,” Robb cut her off, brow furrowed. “The Hound is
one of the Lannisters’ most renowned and faithful servants. Why should we trust
him? Why would you want one of them to follow us when you’ve told us how much
you suffered in King’s Landing?”
 
“You don’t understand! The Hound was never truly one of them,” Sansa snapped
without thinking before biting her tongue when she noticed the surprise in her
mother’s eyes. Breathing in, she resumed in a calmer tone. “When I was in the
capital, he always tried to help me as much as he could. I already told you
about it yesterday, remember?” On the previous evening, she had vaguely
mentioned some of the things Sandor had done for her but both her brother and
mother had seemed sceptical and therefore she hadn’t insisted further. Now
though, it was imperative that Sansa persist. “Without the advice Sandor
Clegane has given me, I don’t know if I’d have survived. He even went so far as
to lie to support me on a few occasions… And… and he also made certain to be
the one to bring me to you. He was the only one I could travel safely with and
he knew it!”
 
At that, Sansa’s mother uttered a soft mirthless laugh. Did I say something
wrong? the girl wondered, heart beating even faster.
 
Smiling wryly, the woman finally explained herself after a long, nerve-racking
moment. “Sansa, as much as this is surprising –especially to me - I believe
your word on that. You’re a sweet and innocent girl but still, you’re smart
enough that I don’t trust you would speak so of the Hound if he hadn’t acted
properly with you.”
 
A deep blush crept over Sansa’s cheeks at the implication. There hadn’t been
anything very proper about Sandor’s actions with her lately. Only, Lady Catelyn
would of course never suspect that her sweet daughter might have actually
enjoyed being corrupted by the former Lannister dog…
 
“I have to admit that this is reassuring as I feared the worst when I saw you
arrive with him,” the woman continued. “To send a maiden alone, through the
woods, with the likes of him… that’s beyond me! The Lannisters really have no
ethics!” A harsh spark shining in her eyes, she looked around her, shaking her
head.
 
“They don’t,” Sansa agreed, jumping on the opportunity her mother was
unknowingly offering her to emphasise Sandor’s quality. “The Hound has far more
morals than his ex-masters will ever have. Joffrey sent me with his sworn
shield, most likely thrilled at the idea that he wouldn’t treat me well but he
misjudged him. Sandor Clegane is a good man no matter what the whole of
Westeros thinks. The Lannisters are largely responsible for his infamous
reputation, especially Joffrey, who needed arms strong enough to carry out his
orders. However, the Hound has grown to disapprove of his king’s building
cruelty and decided he’d rather flee and begin anew elsewhere.”
 
A hush fell over the chamber and for a long moment, both Sansa’s mother and
brother studied her with open curiosity. Shivering with anticipation, the young
girl kept her gaze lowered as she waited for a reply. Still, she couldn’t help
spying on them out of the corner of her eye and trying to figure what might be
going through their heads.
 
Just as Sansa was starting to believe that she would never get an answer, Robb
finally spoke. “And whose idea was this? Was it the Hound who asked you to find
him a place with us?” he inquired, frowning.
 
“Of course not!” Sansa instantly retorted, afraid of where her brother was
planning to take this. “His intentions are to cross the NarrowSea and start a
new life in Essos. I only thought that after all he has done for me, offering
to let him join us was the right thing to do.”
 
His lips twisting into a tired half-smile, Robb sighed deeply but then eyed his
sister with kindness. “Well, if he truly helped you as you insist he has - and
even when you were still in King’s Landing, I’m willing to be more generous
with him. I’ll give the Hound some gold tomorrow before he leaves. That way, he
won’t lack anything until he reaches the Free Cities.”
 
As he spoke, Lady Catelyn nodded in approval. Seeming satisfied, Robb rubbed
his hands together as if the matter was settled before seizing his fork and
lowering his eyes to his plate again.
 
The notion that the issue that meant most to her heart might be so easily
dismissed froze Sansa to the bone; she felt as if her heart had been filled
with ice colder than the Wall itself. Eyes widened in horror, her breath caught
in her throat as she heard her brother’s decision. Her reaction must not have
been very discreet for both her brother and mother instantly turned their gazes
on her but just as Sansa was starting to fear they’d guessed the truth of her
feelings for Sandor, Robb relaxed and began laughing.
 
“There is something very absurd about a young, harmless maiden such as you
worrying about a ruthless warrior like the Hound,” he explained, glancing at
Lady Catelyn who shared a slightly amused look with him. In the same teasing
tone, he added, “Don’t you lose sleep over him, Sansa. A man of his sort
shouldn’t have much difficulty finding work in Essos. He’ll be just fine.”
 
Although Sansa knew Robb meant no ill with his comment, she couldn’t stop the
heat from invading her face. She didn’t like being mocked, especially as the
subject was so sensitive to her. Still, as she couldn’t very well admit her
love for the Hound to her family, she figured the best course of action was to
play on the thankfulness and silly protectiveness they seemed to believe she
felt for the man.
 
“That’s not what worries me, Robb! I just don’t like the thought of him going
all the way back to the East coast in search of a port with ships bound for
Essos. It’s war! It’s too dangerous-”
 
“Too dangerous?! By the gods, Sansa! He’s the Hound!” Robb exclaimed in
disbelief.
 
“But he’ll be alone!” Sansa pleaded.
 
“I’m sorry, Sansa, but there’s naught I can do about it.”
 
Unwilling to accept his response, Sansa kept her gaze on her brother and they
both shared a long, stubborn look until the latter snorted in shock. “You don’t
expect me to lend him an escort, I hope? Each of my men are counted-”
 
“No! All I’m asking of you is that you let him stay with us! You just said
yourself that you lacked men so then why send him away? He’ll fight for us!”
 
Throwing his head back, Robb sighed  and stared at the ceiling for a few
seconds as if he was hoping to find an answer to all of his problems written
somewhere on the stone. “You don’t understand, Sansa,” he resumed more calmly
when he fixed his gaze on her again. “I can’t give Sandor Clegane a place with
us without alienating more of my allies. You’ve heard that I already lost the
Karstarks. Lord Rickard tried to murder the Kingslayer to avenge his son’s
death. He thankfully didn’t succeed but as he killed other Lannister prisoners
we had, I had no choice but to execute him… I’m still uncertain that I’ve made
the right decision… I lost so many men because of it.” He paused to consider
the whole thing a while longer. “Now, we’re hoping the Freys will be willing to
join forces with us again but nothing is sure until Edmure’s wedding is
settled. I’ve made terrible mistakes with them too, although I don’t regret
marrying Jeyne, of course.”
 
Lady Catelyn’s expression hardened at that. Sansa could tell that she probably
didn’t share her son’s opinion on the matter.  
 
“All that to say, sister, that after all these events, I cannot allow myself
even the slightest of missteps. If I accept your request and let the Hound join
us, how do you think my men will react? They wouldn’t understand the gratitude
you feel for him and there’d be no sense in trying to make them change their
minds about him. You can be certain that they’d take him for a spy and think me
weak for allowing my younger sister to influence me in so crucial a matter.”
Turning severe eyes on Sansa, Robb added quietly, “And to be truthful, I’m not
entirely convinced that he isn’t one. He could have played you, Sansa. You can
be so naïve sometimes-”
 
“Oh, Robb! How can you say something like that?” Sansa cried out, highly
offended by his assumption.
 
Taking hold of her hands under the table, Sansa’s mother interfered in the
discussion. “Sansa, he’s right. Whether the Hound is a spy or not, that’s what
the men will believe no matter what we tell them. Robb’s every action is
scrutinised these days and making such a rash decision would only allow his men
to question his leadership further. It would be senseless to risk losing any
more of them now.”
 
Eyes pooling with tears, Sansa tried to object once more. “But… but…”
 
“Shhh, Sansa. You have to trust us,” her mother told her softly while squeezing
her hands. “Tomorrow, Sandor Clegane will leave, we’ll give him gold as Robb
has generously proposed and that will be it. You can’t save everyone. Choices
have to be made. In this case, either we let the Hound stay with us and risk
losing more allies or we send him away and keep all the chances we have to save
the North. We have to act logically, Sansa. I’m sorry.”
 
A few tears went rolling down Sansa’s cheeks. She sniffed, keeping her eyes
lowered, partly in shame at crying in front of her family, partly in
resentment. They would never be swayed, she could see it now. To tell the
truth, she had always known, deep down in her heart that they wouldn’t yield
but she had preferred to blind herself from reality and believe her silly,
childish dreams. The Hound was right, she realised, thinking back to that
evening at the Hornvale castle where he had mocked her so cruelly for asking
him to become her sworn shield. I was so full of hope back then…
 
The worst of it was that she couldn’t find it in her to either blame or hate
her family. They were right. No one would understand if they let the Hound join
them in their march north. They’d only lose more allies, make enemies… they
couldn’t afford that. Oh, gods! Sandor… I’m going to lose you in truth!
 
At the realisation, Sansa tore her hands for her mother’s and stood from her
place. She badly needed to be alone. “I’m not hungry anymore. In fact, I think
I’ll go to bed right away; I’m so tired,” she muttered, staring at the floor.
 
Gazing at her with a compassionate but also obviously weary expression, Lady
Catelyn nodded to give her leave. As Robb bade her goodnight, Sansa turned
around and strode out of the room.
 
Rapid as a gust of wind, she ran through the corridor, keeping her head bowed,
eager to avoid contact with anyone she passed. The thought of being seen in her
state - face soaked in tears, eyes and cheeks red with pain and anger – didn’t
appeal to her at all. It was humiliating enough already to have had her family
witness her weeping like a child; they had not even bothered hiding their
amusement at what they believed was a maiden’s over the top sensibility. They’d
thought her a sweet and innocent girl, worrying to tears at the mere thought
that the most renowned and heartless warrior in the Seven Kingdoms might have
to face danger. There was no sense in that, of course; she could understand
their mirth but they were so wrong! Oh, so wrong! Sansa knew firsthand just how
strong Sandor was, undefeatable even. She’d seen him in action more than once.
No, the reason she was so emotive was because she loved him. If only they could
understand! If only they knew! This is stupid. I ought to be thankful they
haven’t figured out there was something between us. Otherwise, Sandor would
probably have ended up in Riverrun’s dungeon, or who knows, even worse…Still,
it was frustrating being thought of as a child while she had grown so much
lately. Perhaps even now, Mother and Robb were laughing at the memory of her
pathetic tantrum and mocking the puerility of her reaction.
 
No, stop that! They’re not mean; you’re being ungrateful,she reasoned as she
reached her chamber’s doorstep and took her key out of her pouch. The room was
lit up by a lively brazier that danced in the fireplace when she opened the
door and Sansa sighed in relief at the sight. She wanted nothing more than to
be left alone. Well, that was a lie of course for she would have given much to
be with Sandor but life was far more complicated than simply fulfilling ones
desires. Rare were those who did as they liked or if they did, they usually
risked paying dearly. Robb was a good example of that logic; by marrying Jeyne,
he had lost the Frey alliance. Sansa’s case wasn’t much different from his in
the end; either she behaved like a lady as she had been taught and followed her
family back to Winterfell or she threw away everything she knew and fled with
the Hound as he had begged her to when they were at the Braxs’ Castle. Would
his offer still stand if she told him she had changed her mind?
 
No, it wouldn’t be possible anymore. Sandor is surrounded by guards at all
times and has been disarmed. Not to mention that thousands of soldiers are
camped around the castle… We would never be able to flee. It was a foolish
notion anyhow. Sansa loved the Hound with an intensity she had never even
suspected she had in her and the knowledge of his imminent departure from her
life made her sick with grief but that could never change the fact that her
place was in the North with her family. She had a duty to her people and the
memory of her late father to honour; escaping across the NarrowSea with the
Hound would only accomplish the antithesis of that. It would be selfish of her
to follow her heart no matter how cruel it seemed at the moment, Sansa
concluded while jumping on her featherbed and burying her face in the pillows,
weeping.
 
Will Sandor forget me once he’s established in the Free Cities?  Will I forget
him once I’m married to some high lord? The mere idea that they might forget
one another, even years from now, made her tremble with sobs. How could
something as powerful as the love they had shared vanish into thin air and
become naught more than smoke, a vague memory put away forever in the darkness
of one’s mind? The only thing more tragic than forbidden love was forgotten
love… Sansa didn’t want to forget; she yearned to be marked forever by that
episode of her life and desired naught more than to remember Sandor until the
day of her death as her first and only genuine love… and lover. Could I truly
do it? she wondered in shock, raising her face from the wet pillows as the
thought hit her. Her heartbeats becoming frantic again, she sat up on her
featherbed.
 
As one of Westeros’ most highborn maidens, her destiny had always been laid out
in advance for her. She would never be one to make decisions for herself and
she would need to accept it as was her duty. It was an honour being a Stark
after all, nevertheless with the prestige came responsibilities. She wouldn’t
let her forebears down and disgrace her line by fleeing in the dark of night
with someone of the Hound’s reputation. However, there was still something she
might decide for herself. Something no one apart from her and Sandor would ever
need to learn about. And like that, her decision was made.
 
Tonight, Sansa would offer the Hound her maidenhead.
 
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     Yeah! A new chapter! It’s quite longer than I originally intended and
     I hope that you’ll all appreciate it, in all its length. :)
                                     Sansa
 
The idea was beyond outrageous and Sansa was utterly shocked by her own
boldness but her mind had been made up from the moment the notion had slipped
through it. Sandor would be the man to take her maiden gift and her resolution
was as immovable as a boulder standing in the middle of a road. Nothing would
make her waver from her decision. 
 
At first, her heart had skipped a beat anytime she had pondered the risk that
her actions might be uncovered years from now on her wedding night but then she
had reminded herself of all the travelling she had done throughout the past
years. No one would raise an eyebrow if she didn’t lose blood during her
bedding after all these weeks of horseback riding, she had reasoned. For now
however, Sansa had yet other dangers and difficulties to keep her shivering
like a leaf. For one, how she would get to the Hound’s chamber unnoticed was
still a mystery to her even as she walked through the dark alleys of the
castle. At least Riverrun’s population was well asleep by now. She didn’t have
to worry about stumbling into a handmaiden or man-at-arms at this time of the
night, Sansa kept repeating to herself. It was no use however; her fear of
being uncovered was too strong to be soothed. The mere prospect of needing to
explain her midnight walk to her mother made Sansa’s stomach twist into a
painful mass of knots but she nevertheless kept going.
 
Sansa’s hair, face and nightgown were almost completely covered with a long and
dark woollen cloak and her feet were in the tiniest slippers she could find. On
her tiptoes, she advanced along the walls, treading as carefully as she could,
while praying to the Mother that the sound of her soft footsteps didn’t echo
across the stone corridor. Sansa couldn’t tell herself; the pounding of her
heart resounded so loudly that it seemed as if it competed against her uneven
breathing. Both were ringing in her ears with such force that she might as well
have been completely deaf and it would not have made any significant
difference. But it didn’t matter; she had to keep going.
 
She knew the place well enough by now not to get lost in the mazes of the
castle and had seen Sandor enter his chamber so often while she spent time in
the yard that she could have found his den blindfolded if needed. Well, that
was not far from how she felt right now, progressing into the darkness with no
senses left to guide her apart from her instinct. That was enough however.
 
She was almost there, Sansa could see it now. Right there in front of her, at
the end of the long corridor, the moonlight was glowing. She had reached the
yard and its great balcony where the Hound’s room was, she realised with a mix
of excitement and dread. How will I ever manage to get to Sandor’s door without
his guards stopping me? she wondered with building nervousness. Her anxiety
hadn’t allowed her to create a proper plan as she had waited in her chamber
earlier that evening but she had nevertheless decided to jump into action,
convinced that she would come up with something while on her way. She had once
again been wrong, evidently. It was getting tiresome to always misjudge
everything so terribly. The only hope Sansa had was that the guards would be
distracted. Night shifts could be extremely dull and it would only be natural
if one of them had fallen asleep… yet, one less guard still means three men
awake.The improbability that she could succeed was getting increasingly more
obvious to Sansa but she nonetheless kept on walking toward the moonlight –
more stubborn than ever - until she faced the yard. As if the cold stone of the
corridor’s wall could somehow protect her, the girl pressed her body against
it, willing herself to merge with it. She was only a single step away from
being visible to the guards that most likely stood only a dozen yards from
around the corner. It was nerve-racking! Shutting her eyes, Sansa struggled for
an instant to steady her breathing but then she gathered her courage, opened
her eyes and slowly moved her head forward until her right eye was just barely
out, allowing her to spy over the balcony.
 
Thank the Seven!Sansa barely managed not to breathe aloud as she discerned the
shapes of the guards. Instead of four as she had presumed, there were only two
men in front of the door, both of them sitting on the floor, playing dice. The
sight put a grin on her face and triggered a wave of hope to rush through her
but Sansa’s joy quickly soured. Two men might be better than four but she was
still clueless as to how by the Maiden she could possibly get past them
unnoticed. She sighed in despair. Perhaps if I wait long enough, something will
attract their attention and they’ll leave their post - even for the shortest of
instants – offering me the chance to sneak in, she reflected, not truly
believing in her own train of thought. Still, it was that or returning to her
room as much a maiden as she had left, she mused, blushing as she remembered
the intent of her outing.
 
For long and interminable minutes, Sansa waited there, silent and trembling,
her nervousness getting more overwhelming with each passing second. Her feet
were aching from having to stand in place for so long, her mouth and throat
were dry as paper and her hands were so sweaty that they were slippery against
the stone wall. In one word, she felt terrible. The guards were seemingly not
as miserable as she was; Sansa could hear them laughing and cursing both and
anytime she let her eye slip out from the corner of the wall, she couldn’t note
even a single sign that might indicate they intended to move from their place
on the floor.It’s hopeless, Sansa finally decided after what appeared to her as
at least an hour of standing still in the darkness. Carefully, she let her back
slide against the wall until she was sitting on the ground. She was frozen to
the bone – only wearing a thin nightgown and a cloak in the cold autumn night -
and so very tired but still, it was the failure she was faced with that caused
the tears to pool in her eyes. I should have given myself to him while it was
possible. Mayhap at the Hornvale castle, or even when we were at that river
where he saved me…At the memory, the tears in Sansa’s eyes went rolling down
her cheeks. Blaming herself for her past actions wouldn’t change the present
though. She had been so scared back then and still clinging to the belief that
she had the power to sway Robb and Mother; it was only natural that she’d
preferred not to go too far. Her current situation was more surprising to be
honest. A young girl was supposed to treasure her maidenhead, not sneak out of
her room at night, desperately willing to be rid of it. Acting so was almost
treason when you thought about it; what if-
 
“They’re back. Finally!” a voice suddenly exclaimed, halting Sansa’s reflection
as abruptly.
 
Eyes wide and heart jumping in her throat, the young girl turned around to spy
around the corner of the wall again. Noises were coming from the other end of
the balcony. From where she was Sansa could distinguish four persons, both men
and women judging by the sound of their voices and laughter. What is that all
about?she wondered for a heartbeat, until she saw the two guards putting their
dice game aside and rising to join the other group. In the blink of an eye,
Sansa got to her feet again. There was no time to think as she would never get
such a chance again and therefore, she took a deep breath, whispered a short
prayer and flew from her hiding place, running to the Hound’s chamber door.
Less than two seconds later, she was there, hiding in the hollow of the
doorway, hoping against all odds that no one had seen her but as she heard no
yell or footsteps, Sansa was shortly thanking the gods, old and new, for the
luck they had granted her. Hastily, she reached for the door handle only to
realise that the place might very well be locked. Would she need to knock then?
she wondered, her anxiety reaching a whole new height. Thankfully, just as her
heart was about to explode in her ribcage, the door opened with not an ounce of
resistance. With haste and most of all, an immeasurable amount of relief, she
stepped into the chamber and shut the door behind her. And reality became dark
as a grave.
 
Long moments passed during which Sansa didn’t make a single move, too
disoriented by the gloom to react. The room was warm - especially after the
coldness of the yard’s corridor - and also very silent with only the sound of
Sandor’s soft snoring to be heard. Nervously, Sansa took a step further into
the space, blinking as her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. The
remnants of a small fire were dying in the fireplace but there was still enough
light emanating from it for Sansa to begin discerning the shapes of the things
that surrounded her.
 
The room wasn’t very large; in fact it was rather small. There was a simple
wooden table in one corner, a single chair to go with it and a pallet in the
other corner… and on the pallet was Sandor. He was on his back, sleeping
peacefully, chest bared. At the sight, Sansa gasped softly and took a step back
from him. The impression she had to trespass on his privacy made her instantly
ill-at-ease but then she remembered, blushing, why she had come to him in the
first place. Swallowing, she resumed her slow walk toward him.
 
She could smell the wine now; he had been drinking and there was no question
about it. Sweeping her eyes over the room, Sansa almost immediately spotted the
empty bottles and skins settled over the small table. So Beckie - her
handmaiden - had indeed delivered the wine Sansa had prepared for him, she
realised with a smile. The thought that Sandor had received her present warmed
her heart and thus for a short instant, Sansa almost completely forgot how
nervous she was but then an abrupt movement caught her off guard.
 
“WHO’S THERE?!” the Hound barked so threateningly that Sansa jerked backward in
fright, barely managing not to scream. In the blink of an eye, the man had
crouched over his bed, ready to jump at the throat of whoever was disturbing
his sleep. Convinced that the door would open at any moment, filling the room
with guards, Sansa looked behind her for a second but was quickly reassured
when she didn’t hear a single sound coming from outside. The guards were
probably still away.
 
“It’s me, Sansa,” she managed to whisper, her gaze back on him. Her whole body
was shivering in an unpleasant mix of anticipation and fear. What if the Hound
wasn’t pleased to see her after all?
 
“Sansa?” he repeated, looking bemused as he stared straight ahead, eyes lost in
the darkness. His voice was rougher than ever; sharp as a blade but with
something gravelly, almostdirty to its edge. As if he didn’t believe his ears,
Sandor jumped from his pallet and blindly reached for her.
 
Strong, calloused fingers quickly covered Sansa’s cheek as another hand grabbed
her by the waist and dragged her closer. Sansa breathed in the man’s scent,
letting her own hands fall over his bare chest. It was so strange to feel his
skin directly under her fingers and the hair was rougher than she’d imagined.
Still, touching him like this was a thousand times better than it had ever been
through a tunic. Nestling her head against his chest, Sansa shut her eyes in
contentment, peaceful for the first time that night.
 
“What are you doing here?” the Hound asked suddenly, his voice so harsh that
she felt as if its sharpness had just cut open her heart. He doesn’t want me to
be here,she surmised, shocked and dejected.
 
Eyes wide in the gloom, Sansa made to take a step back but Sandor only
tightened his grip on her. His fingers were digging almost painfully into her
waist and shoulder and she could hear and feel his ragged breath against her
face.  Was he gazing at her? She didn’t dare to look up. One of her worst fears
had come true; the Hound wasn’t pleased to see her…
 
“What are you doing here?” the man asked once again, his tone even rougher than
before although he kept his voice low enough not to be heard from outside.
 
For an instant, Sansa was catapulted back to a time when the Hound still
terrified her. She trembled in fright, totally intimidated by everything he was
but then she shook herself. Hadn’t she learned through their journey to look
beyond the façade… to tame him? She couldn’t cower from him like a child now.
“Sandor…” she heard herself say with far more confidence than she felt after a
long moment of silence. “I... I wanted to see you,” she murmured, gazing
upward, trying to make out his features. “To see you one last time before you
go.”
 
Snorting, the man gently pushed her from him and moved toward the fireplace.
“It’s a rare thing that a woman wants to see my bloody face,” he rasped while
stirring the embers back to life with a poker. Once a fire was burning again,
the room grew noticeably lighter - although it was still quite dim – however,
this was enough for Sansa to behold the whole space with far more detail than
she had previously. Sitting on the edge of his pallet, Sandor was blankly
staring at her, looking fairly drunk. “Go on, little bird. Take your last
buggering look,” he growled, eyes narrowed at her while he craned his neck in a
mocking offer.
 
It was very like him to take her words so literally but instead of smiling as
she would normally have, Sansa felt her eyes fill with tears. She strode toward
him. “Sandor,” she said, trying to keep her voice poised. “I… I tried tonight
to convince my brother and mother to let you stay with me – I swear I did! -
but they-”
 
“Bugger that, little bird. Don’t tell me you truly believed they would let me
stay by your side and be your fucking dog?” Sandor barked a rough and bitter
laugh at that. “That was a stupid notion. I told you, didn’t I?” Without
warning, the man dug his fingers into Sansa’s hair until it circled over her
head in a not so pleasant manner. “I thought you’d grown a brain in that pretty
head of yours,” he then grunted almost meanly.
 
“Please! Don’t mock me, Sandor!” Sansa cried out while shaking his hand from
her. “You were the one who found a way to follow me to Riverrun. The Blackfish
didn’t want you to but you nonetheless forced it on him.” Hesitating for a few
seconds, Sansa took a deep breath and continued. “Wasn’t it because you wanted
me to try swaying my family? Why come otherwise?”
 
His jaw clenched, Sandor’s mouth twitched a few times. Narrowed and stormy, his
eyes were boring into Sansa’s, glaring at her so intently that it sent a
shudder down her spine but then he turned his head sideways and gazed away from
her. “Well, mayhap I’m as stupid as you after all, little bird,” he hissed
between gritted teeth.
 
Against her own will, Sansa’s lips curled into a small smile. This was his way
of admitting he had hoped too. Sandor still had feelings for her, only he was
too bitter to show it or admit it. The knowledge gave Sansa courage. She had to
be the one to open her heart, for the Hound would never do it. “I can’t believe
you’ll be going tomorrow,” she began, throat tightening at the thought.
“Chances are we’ll never see each other again afterward… I wish we could have
stayed together.”
 
Glaring at her from his place on the bed, Sandor rolled his eyes and threw his
head back, uttering a short, dry laugh. “Your words don’t mean a thing, girl.
They’re fucking empty!” Seizing her by the upper arms, he pulled her closer,
causing Sansa to nearly lose her balance in the process. “If you wanted to be
with me so damned much, you should’ve followed me when the time was right. Now,
don’t you pretend to be fucking heartbroken and all. I don’t buy your bloody
shit, Sansa,” he snarled as lowly and menacingly as a dog about to attack,
shaking her before he pushed her away with more force than he had ever used on
her.
 
Falling to the floor, Sansa yelped in shock. She wasn’t truly hurt but the
Hound, notwithstanding his harsh talk, had never been anything but gentle and
protective toward her before. The contrast was so strong, brutal even, that
Sansa couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes and rolling down her
cheeks. Finding solace in the cool contrast of the floor against her burning
face, she curled into herself and tried to keep her sobs silent.
 
“You all right, girl?” Sandor muttered from his seat on the pallet.
 
Squeezing her eyes shut, Sansa stayed silent. She needed to calm herself, to
breathe a few times and stop sobbing before she talked.
 
The pallet creaked and Sansa heard footsteps coming toward her. Opening her
eyes slightly, she spied Sandor but only had time to see him staggering as he
approached before she quickly closed them again. Crouching above her, the Hound
settled his hands on her with far more delicacy this time.
 
“I didn’t kill you, did I?” he asked wearily.
 
Sansa shook her head but kept her eyes shut.
 
Sighing, with something like relief, Sandor began feeling her arms and thighs.
“Anything broken?”
 
“No, I’m fine… Just shaken,” Sansa replied in a whisper before turning on her
back and opening her eyes to gaze at him. The Hound was watching her with a
brooding expression, apparently lost in his thoughts.
 
Leaning closer, he began brushing Sansa’s cheek with his knuckles. “A brute
like me shouldn’t have a fragile little bird like you in his care. See how I
treat you? I wouldn’t know how to handle you without breaking your wings,” the
man rasped, mouth set in a tight half-smile. “You’ve made the right choice,
Sansa. You’d lose too much coming with me and I’d only end up hurting you for
real.”
 
Vigorously shaking her head, Sansa circled her arms around Sandor’s neck. He
was mistaken! He was far better than he believed he was! If she hadn’t been so
highborn… Oh! I’d have married him in a heartbeat and never feared for my
safety! For the first time in her life, Sansa regretted being a Stark. Pushing
the thought aside and willing the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes
for the hundredth time that night to stay in place, she pressed her lips
against his. Despite what she had feared, Sandor didn’t shove her away; on the
contrary, he leaned his body over hers, pinning her against the floor and
opened his lips to meet her tongue with his. Sansa moaned into his mouth,
overwhelmed by his warmth and the feel of his hard muscles against her.
 
“Sandor,” she breathed, leaving his mouth. “I came tonight because… because I
still owe you something.”
 
“You owe me nothing, little bird,” the man replied, slightly puzzled.
 
“No, I assure you I do,” Sansa replied, blushing. “I… I promised you a song,
long ago but never gave it to you.”
 
Snorting softly, the Hound rolled on his side. “You don’t have to sing for me,
Sansa. You know by now that was only meant as a bawdy… jape,” the man began,
losing his assurance as he finished his sentence and realised by the smile she
was giving him that she knew exactly - this time at least - what she was
referring to. For a moment, he seemed lost and therefore Sansa turned on her
side to face him and laid her hands over his torso.
 
“Sandor,” she said, gathering all her courage, barely believing she had it in
her to be so bold – wanton even. “Tonight… I… I want to be yours… take me.”
 
The Hound’s whole body shook as he heard her demand. His eyes grew wide and he
gazed at her as if she had completely lost her mind. “You don’t realise what
you’re doing here, girl. Careful! You don’t say things like this unless you
fucking mean them,” he warned her, although his tone made it sound more like a
threat.
 
“But I do,” Sansa stated in a murmur so soft she wasn’t even certain he had
heard her.
 
He had though.
 
Groaning lowly, Sandor gathered her in his arms and lifted her from the ground
faster than it took for Sansa to even realise what was happening. A heartbeat
later, she was bouncing over the pallet, the dark shape of the Hound looming
beside her. Gaping in surprise at her sudden change of environment, Sansa
propped herself on her elbow and glanced up at the man. His gaze was so intent;
from the gleam that shone in his eyes, she might have believed he had gone
completely mad and was about to kill her had she not known better. A part of
her was frightened to be desired with such ferocity while another was flattered
and thrilled at being the object of a passion as strong and undeniable as
his.He really wants me, Sansa reflected, butterflies filling her stomach.
 
Her cloak was wide open around her, revealing the thin white nightgown she was
wearing underneath. From where he stood beside the pallet, the Hound was biting
at his bottom lip, head slightly tilted while fixing her with narrowed eyes.
His body was tight as a bow and completely still apart from his gaze that kept
roving all over Sansa’s body. It’s the calm before the storm, she realised,
heart hammering.
 
And indeed it was for just as she was reflecting upon it, Sandor exhaled and
jumped on the pallet beside her, sliding an arm under her shoulder blades while
breathing in the scent of her neck and hair. For the briefest instant, the
closeness of his presence was almost enough to allow Sansa to forget the knot
of nervousness that had taken root in her long hours ago. Shutting her eyes,
she snuggled herself against him, willing some of his strength to infuse itself
into her.
 
Calloused fingers were pushing down her collar and Sandor began nibbling and
biting at her shoulder and neck while his hands stroked her firmly
everywherewiththe same urgency, as if he feared she might disappear at any
moment. Her hair, her waist, her thighs and buttocks… every part of her body
seemed to be a magnet for his touch. Each of his movements was so rapid that
Sansa was growing dizzy but the sensation wasn’t an unpleasant one, far from
it. When his lips finally met hers, she felt like her heart would burst out of
her chest from the deep bliss it induced in her; Sandor’s mouth was so perfect
against hers! No matter the burns that covered one half and the dirty words it
so often uttered, for now it was soft and comforting. How would she ever live
without those hot kisses? Don’t think about it. Not now, Sansa repeated to
herself while raising her hands to his broad shoulders. His skin was far
rougher and thicker than her own and the muscles underneath were so solid and
taut… She couldn’t stop herself from exploring every detail of their shape and
tracing the lines of his chest and arms with her fingers, totally absorbed by
the feeling.
 
For a split-second, Sansa tensed when she grew aware of the Hound’s hard
manhood rubbing against her thigh. A deep blush crept all over her body but she
relaxed nonetheless and didn’t try to stop him, even when he pushed it further
against her. It seems so big!she thought to herself, at once curious and
fearful. The fabric of her nightgown was so thin and his woollen breeches
weren’t truly thick either; she could almost feel everything… Would he mind if
she touched it? She didn’t dare ask. How by the Maiden was one supposed to
demand such a thing?
 
“I’ve been dying for a taste of those sweet teats of yours for longer than you
can imagine, Sansa,” Sandor murmured as he lowered his head over her cleavage. 
 
Sansa’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat when his fingers began
fumbling with the laces of her dress, pushing the cloth out of the way a second
later, down to her navel. Her arms stayed stuck in the gown’s sleeves and she
had to fight to free herself from the fabric but once it was done and she saw
how the Hound was eating her up with his gaze, she believed her core would
melt. His warm mouth was over her breasts almost instantly, licking and biting
hungrily at the nipples and Sansa whimpered at the sensation. She had never
suspected that such pleasure could be induced by that part of her body.
Shutting her eyes, she dug her fingers into his hair, letting the intense heat
that leaked from each inch of skin the Hound’s mouth lingered upon spread
through her whole body.
 
“Tasty,” the man rasped, leaving Sansa’s wet nipples. The girl groaned in
dissatisfaction, raising her hands over her breasts to warm them. The nipples
were stiff under her touch.
 
Backing slightly away from her, Sandor rolled onto his side and took hold of
the hem of Sansa’s skirt, bringing it up while brushing his palm all along her
calf and thigh, until the cloth was gathered around her waist. A second later,
he had left Sansa’s side and got to the end of the pallet, between her legs.
Making a bundle out of the dress, the Hound nodded impatiently at Sansa.
 
“Take that off,” he said.
 
Obediently, Sansa sat up only to realise that her cloak was still draped over
her shoulders. She undid its clasp before sliding her nightgown over her head
and throwing both pieces of clothing onto the floor. At the contact with the
fresh air, goose bumps sprouted all over Sansa’s naked skin, an unneeded
reminder of the almost complete state of nudity she was in. Never in her life
had she been so exposed to a man’s eyes and while a rush of shame flooded
through her at the thought, the idea also made her centre ache as it never had
before.
 
The Hound took a second to admire her, chest heaving and mouth slightly open.
He was crouched over the pallet, eyeing her with the same lust and hunger of a
savage beast staring at its prey as it got ready to attack. Sansa bit her lip
in anticipation. She was his for the night, she reminded herself and was
prepared to let him do whatever he pleased with her.
 
“You won’t be needing those,” Sandor muttered as he began relieving her of the
long stockings she wore. Once they had joined the cloak and nightgown on the
floor, the man grunted and gazed at Sansa’s smallclothes.  Teeth bared in a
wicked grin, he slid his forefinger under a layer of lace, toying with it. “Nor
these,” he added, unlacing the ribbons that held the garment in place.
 
Sansa squeaked as he pulled the last of her clothing down and fell back onto
the mattress. She closed her legs more by reflex than anything else, feeling
moisture seeping at their juncture.
 
“You said you’d open your pretty white legs for me tonight, little bird,” the
Hound reproached in jest, while grabbing her thighs and gently spreading them.
 
Sansa didn’t resist; he was doing exactly what she had demanded of him, after
all. Would he enter her now?
 
“Mmm,” Sandor groaned, sounding delighted. “Everything about you is perfect,
girl. Even your cunt. Pretty red hair, just like your head…” He paused to utter
a soft snort and smirked. “And pink, like your lips… I’ll kiss it too, if you’d
like.”
 
Without even waiting for a reply, he lowered his head and pressed his lips over
Sansa’s most secret part. The sensation was so strange; very similar to the one
she had experienced while touching herself in the woods while at the same time
utterly different. The knowledge that a man’s head was cradled in such an
intimate place, nuzzling her with neither restraint nor shame, both stupefied
and entranced her. She could hear him breathing heavily as he licked and sucked
at her folds, his big hands running all over her thighs. A moan escaped her
lips when his tongue began teasing her entrance but he then bit at her inner
thigh and rose suddenly from the bed. Why is he stopping? Sansa wondered,
flushed and flustered.
 
“I can stand it no more, little bird. I need to fuck that sweet cunt of yours,
now,” the man rasped, mouth gleaming with moisture. Frantically, he reached for
the laces of his breeches, untying them with haste as if they had caught fire.
 
Sansa rose on her elbows and watched him, spellbound. He was quickly freed from
his breeches and standing in front of her, as naked as on his name day. Sansa
gulped. Sandor’s manhood was even bigger than she had imagined. Was it supposed
to fit entirely into her lady’s part? Surely not.
 
Thick and slick, the Hound’s stiff member was a shade or two darker than the
rest of his body and standing so straight that it seemed to defy any logic. All
around its base, dark, curly hair grew, covering the two balls of flesh that
hung below while going all the way to his navel in a thin line. A curious pearl
of moisture was shining at the tip of its head in the most intriguing fashion.
Never before had Sansa seen a grown man’s member. She was astounded by the
sight and only resuming breathing normally when Sandor’s fist went circling
around its length and began moving up and down in slow, constant movements. Why
was he doing that? Oh… could he really be…?
 
Sansa’s stupefied expression seemed to both amuse and arouse him. “I’ve done
this pretty damned often thinking of you, Sansa. Did you know that?” the man
admitted, taking his place between her thighs and parting them. Using his hand
at first, he stroked her folds, uttering a satisfied grunt.
 
“You’re all wet and ready. I never dreamed your cunt to be so eager to welcome
my cock,” he breathed, rubbing the length of his manhood against her.
 
Gasping, Sansa threw her head back at the pleasure the contact brought her.
“Oh, Sandor,” she cried, not thinking. “I want…” she whispered, trailing off
when she realised she didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.
 
“What? Tell me, little bird?” the Hound inquired with obvious interest. When
she didn’t reply, he smirked and asked, “My cock? Is that what you want?”
 
Sansa could feel her skin growing redder with every beat of her heart but
lowered her gaze to him nonetheless, fixing it on him for a few seconds before
she nodded her agreement.
 
At her reply, the Hound’s eyes seemed to darken even more and his mouth
twitched. He lowered his body over Sansa’s and met her lips with his in a soft
kiss while aiming the end of his manhood at her entrance. Slowly, he began
sliding the head into her. It felt so strange but didn’t hurt at first until he
pushed into her again, further this time. Her body tensing, Sansa let out a cry
but immediately tried to relax and circled her arms around the Hound’s broad
neck.
 
“Did I hurt you?” he asked as softly as his hoarse voice allowed.
 
“No,” Sansa lied, shaking her head while looking up at him. He seemed concerned
but smirked and kissed her when he heard her reply.
 
In one thrust, Sandor sheathed the rest of his manhood into her, his brow
falling onto the pillow when he was done. “Seven hells, little bird, but you’re
tight.”
 
Sansa didn’t have a hard time believing him for she felt stretched to an extent
she hadn’t expected. Still, the pain wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t bear it
and that was more than she had hoped for. That’s it! I’m not a maiden
anymore,was the thought that hit her at that moment. Her veil was without a
doubt history now that the Hound’s hard member filled her so completely. The
idea was both frightening and exciting; while Sansa knew very well that her
actions tonight could never be reversed, the notion that she had decided for
herself to whom she’d gift her maidenhead was also extremely satisfying. The
knowledge that it was Sandor whom she had allowed to invade her body for the
first time would be with her for the rest of her life and no one could ever
take it from her.
 
With a deep groan, the Hound began to move his hips back and forth between
Sansa’s thighs, slowly at first but then faster and faster. Although her lady’s
parts were still sensitive, something in the way his shaft rubbed against their
walls induced a pleasant throbbing which was increasingly more intense and
intoxicating as he kept going. Sweat was pearling all over the Hound’s torso
and back but Sansa couldn’t have cared less and kept her arms tightly locked
around his shoulders. Pressing her deeply into the scratchy straw mattress,
Sandor’s muscular body was heavy over hers, weighing on her but that was also
something she enjoyed.
 
She had never seen him bear such an expression as the one he had now. His eyes
were deprived of the usual cool edge and assurance they always had; they were
passionate, lost and contented all at once instead. Sansa couldn’t believe she
could be the cause of such exhilaration in the man. Sandor was so out of
breath; he barely seemed to be able to contain himself, as if he was on the
verge of something. I love him like that, Sansa decided, wishing the moment
might last eternally. Growing bold, she arched her back and ground her hips
against his, mirroring his own constant movements while letting out a whimper
as she felt his manhood - although she would have sworn it was impossible! -
slide even deeper inside her.
 
Panting, the Hound’s eyes grew wide. “You squirming little bird! If you don’t
stop that, I won’t last very long.”
 
Puzzled by his meaning, Sansa stopped nonetheless but it apparently didn’t
matter as Sandor was already rolling onto his back and abandoning her.
 
“Too late,” he breathed, stroking his manhood in the same fashion he had
moments ago. A white, transparent liquid spilled from the tip of its head,
landing over Sandor’s upper belly in sticky looking drops while the man groaned
and shook, head thrown back.
 
Sansa stared at the whole process in fascination. That probably meant the end
of it, she gathered, slightly disappointed although mostly content with the
outcome.
 
“I had too much bloody wine,” the Hound rasped under his breath. “I was drunk
asleep when you arrived. It’s a buggering wonder I got hard at all… Although
with you, I wager I’d manage even after drowning myself in all the bloody wine
in the Red Keep’s storeroom,” he continued, eyes shut as if he was about to
fall asleep.
 
Rolling onto her side, Sansa nestled against him, purring when she felt his
thick arm snake around her. A second later, she squeezed her eyes shut as the
realisation that these were her last moments with Sandor hit her again, willing
the gesture to chase the knowledge from her mind. Now was not the time to weep
and regret. Later. I’ll think on that later. Forcing a smile on her face, she
opened her eyes and laid a hand over the Hound’s chest, caressing its hair
while glancing curiously down. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of
his manhood, still as hard as it had been before he entered her. Was it meant
to stay like this even after? A man’s member still held so much mystery in her
eyes. She yearned to understand how it worked, what every detail she had
witnessed tonight meant… and to touch it. Heat invaded her face at the idea but
Sansa would never get another chance, apart from years from now with her
husband. Thinking of that faceless man almost brought bile to the back of her
throat; she’d rather never give herself to any man at all than be touched by
someone else. Her resentment giving her courage, Sansa slowly moved her hand
toward Sandor’s manhood. The man’s breath was coming more evenly now, the soft,
soothing sound of someone dozing off and for a very short instant, Sansa was
persuaded that he would not even notice as she lightly laid the tips of her
fingers over his manhood but she had been wrong again.
 
Obviously still awake, the Hound turned prying eyes on her even before she had
a chance to really get a touch. “What are you doing, Sansa?” he grunted,
staggered.
 
Abashed that she’d been caught, the girl nervously gazed at him but was quickly
reassured when she didn’t read any annoyance in his expression. On the
contrary, his eyes were alive with lust as if their lovemaking had never taken
place.
 
Lowering her eyes in embarrassment, Sansa nevertheless decided to explain
herself. “I… I wanted to feel your… your…”
 
“My cock,” Sandor answered for her, smirking. “Go on. Touch it all you like;
I’m not about to stop you.”
 
Blushing at the smugness of his approval, Sansa once again approached his
manhood with her hand and caressed its length with her fingers. The skin feels
so soft and silky, she mused, amazed that a warrior such as the Hound would
have even a single part of his anatomy that was not rough or calloused. Her
head was propped over his chest, face turned down so that she could see what
she did but Sansa needed a better view. She sat up, shy and bold all at once
while the powerful arm that held her let her go, stroking her back and hair
instead. The white fluid she had seen coming out of Sandor’s shaft was still
there over his upper belly and Sansa laid the tip of a finger over it, moving
it around. It was stickier than she’d imagined, she noted, wrinkling her nose.
 
“The seed’s still there, isn’t it? I’d almost forgotten,” the Hound muttered
while stretching his long body to seize some random piece of cloth from the
small table beside the pallet. Without much care, he rubbed it over the seed
and threw it away.
 
Sansa watched, fearful that the soiled fabric had fallen over her nightgown and
stained it with the seed, giving proof of her misbehaviour to whomever was
curious enough to look but thankfully the Hound had aimed further away. Sansa
sighed in relief and returned to her exploration.
 
Sandor’s erect member was lying over his lower belly, going all the way to his
navel and Sansa was confounded at the thought that it had fitted completely. It
was so long! And not only that, it was also exceedingly large. Could she cover
all its width with her fist as Sandor had done? Surely not but the urge to try
was getting to her. Delicately, Sansa pressed her palm against it and jumped in
surprise when the thing squirmed under her touch.
 
“It wants you to stroke it, that’s all,” the Hound muttered, a wolfish grin
curving his lips.
 
Heeding his suggestion, Sansa gripped his shaft and lifted it using one hand
first but then adding another if only to evaluate its dimensions more easily. 
Astounded by the way the skin slid over the hardness it covered, she shyly
attempted to mimic the slow up and down movements the Hound had done
previously. It wasn’t as simple as it looked; the skin kept slipping out of her
hands and Sandor was starting to tense as if something was annoying him.
 
“Harder, Sansa. Close your little fists as firmly as you can. And move faster
too,” he rasped. A jolt passed though his body when she did as he asked,
shortly followed by a string of soft curses.
 
The strength of his reaction made Sansa smile. It did go far better that way,
she had to admit. The skin was moving smoothly under her palms and judging by
the response she was getting, the Hound enjoyed the caresses she offered very
much. He was not the only one though; Sansa relished the feeling of power the
gesture gave her. Simply by stroking his shaft, it was as if she had gained all
control over him, no matter how impressive and intimidating he usually was.
 
“Yes, that’s it, little bird,” Sandor murmured approvingly. “Now straddle me.
Put your lovely cunt around my cock.”
 
Sansa’s eyes grew wide. She wasn’t exactly certain of how she was supposed to
proceed.
 
Seeing her hesitation, the Hound grunted and grabbed Sansa by the waist,
raising her over his hips while eliciting a squeak of surprise from her. She
landed over him, knees far apart and folds resting over his manhood. Blushing
madly, Sansa shifted her position and groaned at the sharp sensation the
friction created.
 
“Put it in, Sansa,” Sandor told her, eyes narrowed in lust.
 
She obeyed and rose on her knees. Circling a hand around his shaft, she pressed
its head against her entrance and began - so very slowly – to slide it inside
of her. She could feel her insides stretching again while some of her previous
soreness was instantly revived by the action but Sansa was most of all
exhilarated by the overwhelming feeling. Sandor’s stiff manhood was halfway in
- both filling her hand and gradually creating an opening in her - when some of
the wetness of her folds trickled along its length and reached her fingers. A
part of Sansa was scandalised by all the fluids that went with the act of
lovemaking; it seemed so dirty, so bestial… Still, another part of her was
intensely aroused by those same details and yearned to let go of all propriety.
Arching her back and throwing her head backward, Sansa removed her hand from
the Hound’s member and pushed the remaining length as deeply as she could
between her thighs. For a heartbeat, she was almost blinded by the impact of
his full manhood in her – pain fusing into ecstasy in the most confusing
fashion. Dazed, she almost fell over Sandor but robust hands held her in place.
 
Grunting softly, the man trailed his palms from Sansa’s hips up to her breasts
and then all along her back down to her buttocks, cupping the cheeks firmly.
“Such a beautiful bird, dancing over my cock,” he rasped when Sansa began
rocking herself against him. Enraptured by her eagerness, Sandor caught her by
the hips and began thrusting his shaft inside of her, attuning himself to the
cadence she had established.
 
At the tight contact of his shaft inside her, the delightful throbbing Sansa
had experienced earlier was quickly being revived, however, another point of
pleasure was also being awoken by that particular position. Just above her
entrance where the Hound’s manhood kept coming and going, the same nub of flesh
that she had caressed on that night in the woods was being pressed and rubbed
in such a way that the exquisite burning was slowly starting to build in her
core again. She continued to push and slide against it – revelling in the
delicious friction while desperately searching for the best way to trigger the
bliss she remembered. Once she hit the right angle, Sansa let out a lament so
unladylike and loud that she surely would have cringed if it had not felt so
utterly perfect. Dizzied and somewhat shocked at her own wanton reaction, Sansa
lost her balance and landed over Sandor’s brawny chest.
 
“Hush, little bird. Do you want my guards to find you here? The Lady Sansa
fucking the Hound and enjoying it?” he rasped, smirking at his jape. Softly, he
brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen over Sansa’s face with his
fingers but abruptly threw his head back and groaned when she resumed the
movement of her hips. “Gods, Sansa,” he panted. “Believe me, you move like a
bloody goddess.” 
 
Smiling coyly at the indecent praise, Sansa kissed him languorously, musing on
how she loved him regardless of his crude ways. Palms flat on his chest, she
propped herself upward, leaving his mouth while the Hound tightened his grip on
her hips, increasing the rapidity of his thrusts. The stabbing of his taut
manhood into the softness of her insides was swiftly and inexorably bringing
Sansa nearer to climax and she arched her back until she was almost as curved
as a bow, rolling her hips over her responsive little nub and pressing her
entire weight over it. Her whole body was about to explode, or so she believed.
Ripples of liquid fire were invading each of her limbs with increasing force
until a final wave, more violent than she would ever have imagined possible,
drifted over her – dominating her senses. Crying out in elation, Sansa fell
over Sandor again, writhing and moaning in the most licentious and shameless
fashion she could conjure.  
 
Holding her tight, the Hound muffled her cry with his mouth, kissing her
passionately until she was silent and calm again. Wholly astounded by what she
had just experienced, Sansa gazed into his eyes, finding everything she desired
right there.
 
“I love you,” she whispered softly.
 
The Hound didn’t react at first but then his eyes narrowed at her.
 
“I love you, Sandor,” she repeated as much to herself as for him before meeting
his lips with hers again.
 
Against anything Sansa might have believed, the kiss they shared at that moment
was even more passionate than any other they had ever had. With strong, tender
hands, the Hound pushed her onto her back without leaving her mouth and resumed
thrusting between her thighs more frantically than ever. His manhood met no
resistance in the wetness of her folds, the way a sword slid perfectly into the
sheath custom-made to shelter its blade. They were nibbling at each other’s
lips and sliding their tongues together as if there was no tomorrow – and
indeed there wasn’t! – until Sandor’s body tensed and jerked. Letting out a
deep and long moan, the man rolled onto his side barely in time to avoid
spilling himself in Sansa’s belly. Seed splattered over the insides of her
thighs, the fluid warm and sticky against her skin. Completely out of breath,
Sansa reached for him, drowsily letting him wrap his long and muscular arms
around her, pushing her head into the solid cushion of his chest.
 
****
 
The room she was in was warm and dark. An agreeable, musky scent was swirling
in the air, suffusing Sansa’s nostrils and enveloping her whole body. Her skin
was almost completely pressed against something that radiated heat and covered
by big and heavy limbs…Sandor! I’m still in his room!Sansa realised with a
start. She had fallen asleep in his bed after the intense and perfect night
they had shared...
 
What time is it? she wondered, terrified. Untangling herself from his grasp,
Sansa searched for her nightgown on the floor. She found it easily but putting
it on in the gloom was another matter. Once the struggle was done and her cloak
was draped over her shoulders, she gave a sleeping Sandor one last kiss, tears
pearling in her eyes and headed for the door. The guards!she remembered,
horror-struck. Whispering a short prayer, she opened the door and peeked
outside. She didn’t see anyone from where she was. Perhaps the guards were on
the other side, hidden behind the door but she neither had the time nor a way
to find out. Taking a deep breath and trying to master her panic, she ran out
as silently and hastily as she could, not even bothering to shut the door
behind. Never looking back, she continued her flight through the long corridors
until she had reached her room. Catching her breath, she finally took a look
back, waiting for the worst but saw no one. The alley was as silent as a grave
apart from a few birds that had started their morning songs outside the great
window. It was dawn already. Thankfully, judging by the light, Sansa still had
about an hour before her handmaiden came. She had time to wash… and cry.
 
****
 
“Gold?” the Hound asked, baffled, staring at the pouch that Robb held before
him.
 
“Yes,” the younger man answered, trying to hide his unease. “It’s to thank you
for having taken good care of my sister. You’ve protected her, brought her safe
and whole to us and for that, the North is grateful.”
 
Scowling, Sandor narrowed distrustful eyes at Robb and grunted something
unintelligible before seizing the pouch. The man glanced in Sansa’s direction,
grey eyes as cold as steel but shortly returned his gaze to the king.
 
“I’ll find use for that,” he rasped, putting the pouch away in Stranger’s
saddlebag.
 
The early morning sun didn’t reflect on the Hound’s dark grey armour although
the sunbeam was almost strong enough to forget the coldness of the autumn air.
He and his stallion were the darkest things in the yard, seemingly coming
straight from the gloom of the night. The thought produced shivers all over
Sansa’s body as images from their stolen night of passion flashed in her mind.
 
Two hours at the most had passed since she had left the warmth of Sandor’s
pallet. For fear that Beckie, her handmaiden, might detect the Hound’s scent on
her, Sansa’s first actions after arriving in her room had been to slip her
nightgown over her head and rub a wet towel all over her body. In other
conditions, she wouldn’t have been so eager to rid herself of his mark but the
present situation required that she act swiftly. Once she was clean enough for
her taste, she had laid her tired limbs over her featherbed and pulled the
thick sheets over her frail body. It was a strange thing to regret rough,
cotton linens and the hardness of a thin straw mattress when settled over a
featherbed…  
 
The rest of Sansa’s dawning hours had been split between mad fits of giggles
and swoons followed by long and heartbreaking sobs. Beckie had eyed her
strangely when she had entered the chamber and seen her puffy, red eyes but the
woman had thankfully not uttered any comment. The handmaiden had helped her
dress and brushed her long hair, swearing under her breath in annoyance at how
exceptionally tangled it was this morning. Once her appearance was acceptable,
Sansa had left her room and rushed to the yard, fearing all the way that she
had missed the Hound’s departure, however, the day had only just begun and thus
the man had still been there, surrounded by his guards while squires fixed the
last plates of his armour over his back and chest. For a few minutes, Sansa had
stayed in the shadows of the doorway, at a loss as to how to address him in
front of all those people after what they had shared and certain that anyone
who watched her would see right through her demure attitude and formal phrases.
Tears had pooled in her eyes, forcing her to sponge them away with her sleeve –
against Septa Mordane’s every teaching – while gulping hard to keep the sobs at
bay. She hadn’t noticed Robb’s footsteps behind her as he approached and had
jumped at feeling his hand squeezing her shoulder.
 
“Come. Let’s go give our farewells,” he had gently told her while leading her
outside.
 
She had followed him without a word and now, here she was, gazing at the man
she loved for the last time in her life. The idea that she would never see him
again was extremely hard to grasp for Sansa. A lifetime without him was an
abstract concept. Tears were threatening to fill her eyes every time she
blinked but she had promised herself she would show a brave face and she
intended to keep her word.
 
Buckled at his hips, Sandor’s sword belt hung empty. His weapons were still in
his guards’ possession and the men were instructed to escort him a half day’s
ride away from Riverrun before they gave them back for reasons Sansa didn’t
quite understand. Did Robb truly fear that he would come back and attack the
castle by himself?
 
“Well, I reckon I should be on my way now,” the Hound announced with a total
lack of enthusiasm, while jumping into Stanger’s saddle. “Good luck with the
war, Your Grace,” he muttered in Robb’s direction, barely masking the contempt
in his voice when speaking the title. Turning his gaze on Sansa, he stared at
her for an instant, something like resentment gleaming in his eyes. “Farewell,
Lady Sansa,” he rasped flatly, his mouth twitching a single time at that.
 
A moment later, the Hound was heading toward the drawbridge, followed by the
group of mounted guards who would escort him out of Sansa’s life. Forever.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello girls!
     I had originally planned to post this chapter and the final one at
     the same time but I changed my mind in the end and decided I’d rather
     give you something to chew on while you wait. I warn you though;
     after this one they’ll only be the final one remaining. It feels so
     weird to think about it!!!
     I hope you’ll all enjoy this one and I’d really like to get your take
     on it.
     Thank you for reading!
                                    Sandor
                                        
                                        
The thick mist of sleep that had enveloped his consciousness had taken its
sweet time dissolving. Sandor usually didn’t linger in bed but the dreams that
had crowded his night had been too perfect to leave without a combat and
therefore, he had willed with all his might for sleep to swallow him again but
that wasn’t a fight Sandor’s skills could win. Lying alone on his pallet, the
foggy memory of his ordinarily so shy little bird finding her way to his
chamber with no other wish than to be fucked senseless had quickly come back to
him. In all likelihood, Sandor would have ended up believing the whole thing to
be a buggering delusion if not for the small drop of blood that stained the
linens where Sansa had lain. Under the dawning light, its dark brownish-red hue
had reminded Sandor of the petal of a dying rose. The little bird’s precious
maidenhead, lost over rough linens in the dark of the night with an even
rougher man,he mused, thinking back on that morning while staring at the
pouring rain outside the small hollow where he hid at the base of a rock
formation. About a fortnight had passed since that twice-blasted day when he
had had no other fucking choice than to leave the girl in her family’s care.
 
The course of the night had not taken long to come back to him. In a succession
of images, each more arousing than the last, every detail of the blessed hours
Sansa had been his had flashed through his mind and never stopped. Even now as
he travelled through the Riverlands, the little bird’s unexpected visit
occupied his every thought. The memory of that soft and frail naked body
brushing against his, of those plump lips, pink and parted as they cried in
ecstasy, of her eyes rolling when she reached her peak, of her firm teats in
his hands and of her cunt so tight but also, so fucking perfect around his
cock… all of those andmuch more were now apparently all he could think about
for longer than a few minutes straight. The girl had been so sweet and eager,
wrapping her thin arms around him and breathing his name in gasps of pleasure
while spreading her pretty white thighs as widely as she could, wishing naught
more than for his cock to thrust as deeply as it could into her… And she told
you she loved you, dog,he repeated to himself before snorting and spitting into
the wall of rain that fell before him.
 
Unsheathing his sword, the man began his daily ritual of cleaning the cold
steel. The sharp sound of the blade as the whetstone brushed over its edge was
soothing as a lullaby to Sandor’s ears. The maintenance of his weapons was as
much an obligation as a pastime to him; he had always enjoyed the process and
would undoubtedly have found the nights pretty damned long without the activity
to occupy him. That and also the knowledge that the very blade he worked upon
would slaughter anyone stupid enough to get in his way was intoxicating. Being
battle ready at any buggering given time had been second nature to Sandor ever
since he could recall, a habit he would certainly never lose but lately the
importance of the deadliness of his weapons had dramatically increased in his
mind, for he was on a mission of his own choosing for the very first time in
his life.
 
Little bird. I’m coming for you.
 
                                        
                                     Sansa
 
 
Although dawn was now well past, the shy autumn sun was so faint that Sansa
might have believed night was still upon them had she not been awakened several
hours ago. Having only ever known summer, she already missed the season so
terribly. Every day that went by was noticeably shorter than the previous one
to the point where she now had to wonder if Old Nan’s stories of the Long Night
were not true after all. The idea was more than frightening to say the least.
 
Still, with or without sufficient daylight, life had to go on and thus, the
usual morning preparations had been unfolding for a few hours now. It always
took an awfully long time for the column to be ready to depart and therefore
Sansa and Dacey Mormont had taken up a habit of strolling around the camp to
pass the time every morning. Today was no exception and through their walk,
they had found a small clearing filled with apple trees but the hopes they had
had at first had quickly grown as sparse as the sunbeams.
 
“They’re wrinkled and rotten in this one too,” Dacey commented, disappointment
and disgust in her voice.
 
The fruits that hung in the nearest tree were all brownish and small. The two
girls had now inspected each and every last tree they had found but not a
single one of their apples had appeared to be edible.
 
“Is the season really over so soon? Autumn is hardly done yet,” Sansa
complained to the emptiness before her.
 
“Well, perhaps the trees will bloom again in a few weeks and more will grow
before winter comes but we’ll be far from here by then,” the tall girl
answered, wrinkling her nose at the spongy feel of an apple under her
forefinger. “These ones are well beyond lost. Even my horse would turn his nose
up if I offered him one and that says a lot as he’s usually such a glutton!” 
 
Smiling sadly at her friend’s jest, Sansa distractedly caressed the trunk of
the nearest tree. “Still, I’m surprised all of them have already gone foul.
Only a few weeks back, we had the nicest apples –it was lovely! - but we were
still in the Westerlands then. The seasons must be different up here in the
north of the Riverlands…” Sansa regretted, sighing deeply.
 
“We? You and the Hound, you mean?” Dacey asked, raising an eyebrow.
    
I really should stop mentioning him so often. I forget myself! Sansa mused,
blushing at her inadvertent slip. It was hard for her not to mention him. She
was constantly compelled to speak Sandor’s name as if by doing so, she might
somehow be able to bring him back. “Yes, that’s what I meant,” she murmured,
willing her tone to sound casual.
 
Dacey eyed her with suspicion but didn’t utter any comment. Instead, she turned
around and gazed in the camp’s direction. She was garbed in breeches, high
boots and wore thin leather armour and looked very fierce, Sansa reflected,
especially with the long dagger that hung at her hip.
 
“I can’t wait to hear the horn blow to call us to leave. It’s already almost
past mid-morning, by the gods! ” Dacey muttered, exasperated. “It seems as if
we’ll never get to the Twins. I still have a hard time believing we’re now only
a couple of days away.”
 
Sansa nodded her agreement although the older girl’s back was to her. She was
growing extremely weary of all the constant travelling and the break that would
represent her uncle’s wedding would be more than welcome. The journey north was
far more difficult than she had presumed. It was queer; although her time with
the Hound had lacked all the comforts she presently had, her sleep came far
less easily these days. She may sleep in a tent over a cot and eat meals that
were varied and warm three times each day, yet those details were now totally
meaningless to her. Sansa might as well have laid over rocks and fed on earth
and she would not have felt any worse. Life had been so much more pleasant
while she crossed the Westerlands with Sandor. Every hour she had spent with
him by her side had been as exciting as the grandest of tourneys in comparison
to the boring day-to-day routine her reality was now made of. Sighing, the girl
sat on a large boulder – the only passably dry surface that surrounded her –
and brought her knees to her breasts, gaze lost before her.
 
Sandor had been right to prefer travelling light, Sansa had shortly come to
realise. The party she was with these days was composed of thousands of men at
arms, servants and camp followers of all sorts and such a large group advanced
painfully slowly. The weather wasn’t helping either; showers of rain were
drowning them most of the time and the road beneath their feet was extremely
muddy and slippery. Regularly, a horse would slip and fall. The column
sometimes had to wait more than an hour before the beast was fully examined and
then either saved or killed. Sansa was heartbroken every time the latter was
decided. Her tears did come terribly easily these days...
 
Sansa shared a tent with her mother and therefore she had been forced to muffle
the sobs that had shaken her every night since the morning Sandor had left
Riverrun. Her pillow was always so wet by dawn that she had no doubt her
handmaiden had noticed something odd but the woman had thankfully kept silent
so far. Sansa had used the excuse of the hardship of the travel to explain the
redness of her eyes and tautness of her face whenever someone had mentioned how
tired she looked and everyone had always apparently bought her story. Were they
all truly that blind to how grieved she was over the loss of her one true love?
Was it not as evident as the sun on a glorious summer’s day how distraught and
empty she felt? Although she should have been thanking the gods that her family
had not guessed the true reason for her state, Sansa was nevertheless utterly
annoyed that none of them could divine the nature of her distress. She felt as
if her heart had been cut in two and one half stolen from its place but no one
seemed to either notice or care. They had believed her lies with no questions
asked. The Hound would not have been fooled so easily. He could smell lies
miles away and always knew how to see right through me.Sansa missed him so…
 
Life was so dull without him by her side. No one spoke like him in their camp,
or if they did, they would never dare in Sansa’s presence. The men that
surrounded her were treating her with so much reverence that it annoyed her to
no end! She was like a beautiful object to be admired from afar for fear of
breaking or spoiling it - too fragile and too pureto be touched. Sansa almost
snorted at the thought. If only they knew…
 
Most of all, however, Sansa missed being the centre of attention, the one thing
that mattered in someone’s eyes. Sandor had always made her feel so important
and desired; naught else captivated his interest more intently than her
presence. Ever since her time in King’s Landing, he had always been completely
captivated by her, or so he had told her but Sansa had no difficulty believing
his word where that was concerned; it was something she had felt herself even
before she could understand it.
 
Against anything she might ever have foreseen, she had grown in time to love
the Hound too, to a point where she had been willing to grant him the one thing
a maiden can offer once, a gift meant for her lord husband alone. The last
night they had shared had been so magical, intense but also…dirty and bestial.
The reality of what occurred between lovers was kept secret from maidens; she
would never have expected most of what had transpired between them. At the
memory of their lovemaking, Sansa’s eyes still grew wide with shock but the
flush that would creep all over her skin was not caused by shame… There was
something else, far stronger and more profound that vibrated through her
anytime she let her mind wander to that night of passion. She had tasted the
forbidden fruit - had been soiled by its flavour - and would never recover…
 
Every moment of her last night with Sandor, Sansa had relished. She kept
turning the events over in her mind, wishing for their bodies to mingle once
more, to be one as they had been, as they were meant to be joined. Her only
consolation was that she had had the chance to live them, to decide on her own
the ending to their love story. As tragic as it was, their romance was as
beautiful as the saddest and most touching song she had ever heard. Too
highborn for the man she loved, Sansa had sacrificed her purity for the sake of
showing him how much he meant to her and with the gesture, she had proved to
him that naught would have stopped her from being his if not for the duty she
had toward her family, people and land. A tear rolled down her cheek at the
thought and Sansa swiftly wiped it away, fearing that Dacey might notice.
 
“Do you think everything will go well with the wedding?” Dacey suddenly asked,
still staring toward the camp.
 
The cloud of her thoughts instantly dissolving around her, Sansa frowned at her
friend. “Why should there be any problem?”
 
Dacey turned her head back to gaze at her. “Well, I heard the Freys were
vindictive bastards for one.” Grinning at Sansa’s gasp, the tall girl
continued. “I’m only repeating what others have told me!” she justified with
amusement. “Even without that undeniable fact, you can expect that a man who’s
been promised to become grandfather to a king will not be too pleased when the
terms of the contract are changed and his daughter ends up being betrothed to a
mere lord instead.”
 
“Edmure is not just any lord though. He rules over the whole Riverlands now
that my grandfather is dead,” Sansa promptly retorted.
 
“Still, that’s not the same as a king, is it?”
 
Sansa had to agree. With a sigh, she reflected for the hundredth time on Robb’s
decision to marry Jeyne. The cost had been exceedingly high for the North and
its allies but at least it had allowed her brother to follow his heart. A pang
of jealousy stabbed her at the recollection.
 
“This is going to be some tense wedding. I’m not certain exactly what to expect
but the atmosphere at the honour table won’t be too jolly, believe my word on
that,” Dacey predicted, tone low and brooding.
 
Smiling, Sansa raised her chin from her knees and wolfishly glanced at her
friend. “Especially if the bride is as ugly as Edmure believes she will be. He
keeps complaining to whoever stands in his presence long enough that he’ll end
up marrying a maiden so hideous that the Tully bloodline won’t ever recover
afterwards.”
 
Both girls giggled at the foolish notion. It was good to laugh - Sansa had
missed it – but the melancholy in her was rooted far too deeply to vanish
completely, even for the shortest of moments. She almost felt guilty, as if
allowing joy to seep through her gloom without Sandor by her side was the same
as being unfaithful to him. The idea made her instantly lose her smile and she
leaned her chin over her knees again, lowering her eyes to the soaked ground.
 
Dacey had turned her attention in the camp’s direction again. From where they
were, Sansa could hear the distant echo of orders followed by the loud booming
sounds of carts being filled. As she saw them, the workers and soldiers were as
small as ants and worked with the same meaningless and pathetic ardour the bugs
did while building their sand castles.
 
Shortly engrossed in her reverie once more, Sansa didn’t even notice the dark,
towering shape that was taking form in the bushes at her side. When the shadow
finally reached her, she jumped and jerked her head up, barely managing not to
gasp aloud as she realised who it was but thankfully bit her tongue just in
time. Sandor! Heart pounding madly, she raised both hands to her gaping mouth.
What is he doing here?
 
Pressing his forefinger over his lips, the man bade her to stay silent and
Sansa obeyed, trembling. Despite what was customary for him while travelling,
the Hound had removed his armour and only wore a studded leather jerkin over
dark woollen garb instead. It was good seeing him but Sansa’s joy at his
unexpected appearance was too tainted with fear that he’d be caught and
executed to be pure and agreeable. Most of all however, she was exceedingly
confused. Had he really followed the column all this time and passed Robb’s
sentries at the risk of his life only to see her again? This was insane!
 
An old piece of cloth stretched tight between his raised fists, the Hound was
slowly approaching Dacey and Sansa’s breath caught in her throat when she
realised what he was about to do.
 
The older girl heard her and immediately turned around, a jolt passing through
her and her eyes widening when she came face to face with the Hound. Losing no
time, she reached for her dagger and took a step back but Sandor was faster. In
an instant, he had her arms under control but Dacey briskly kicked him in the
thigh instead with so much force that he almost lost his hold on her.
 
“Sansa!” she yelled, her eyes wild with fear and anger. “Run!”
 
Completely petrified by what was taking place, the young girl was as immobile
as a statue, watching in horror as the man she loved fought against the sole
friend she had made in years. “Stop it! Both of you!” was all she managed to
squeak out.
 
Gathering speed, the Hound threw his arm back and hit Dacey over the head with
the side of his hand. At the impact, the girl became soft as a rag and fell to
the floor. A heartbeat later, Sandor was crouched over her, tying the piece of
cloth he had carried over her face and unrolling the long rope that had hung at
his belt seconds earlier. Why did he have to hurt Dacey? Sansa anxiously
wondered but then almost instantly replied to her own question. She would never
have let him talk to me and would have called for help.
 
Not feeling the least bit better for knowing the answer, Sansa instinctively
braced herself and rose from her seat. “What are you doing?” she asked,
increasingly more dumbfounded and uneasy.
 
“Tying her up. She was stronger than I assumed. A second later and she would
have alerted the whole buggering camp,” the Hound rasped flatly while circling
the long rope all around Dacey’s body.
 
“But… but why?” Sansa whispered, her voice as small as a child’s.
 
Raising his gaze from his work, Sandor looked at her with a certain annoyance.
“You think I’d leave her like that?” he asked lowly, with the tone of someone
irked at having to state the obvious. “We’d be caught moments from now. I
didn’t truly hurt her; she’s sure not to sleep for very long.” With that, he
returned his attention to his knot.
 
“We?” Sansa wondered out loud, taking a step back from him.
 
“Aye. You and I, little bird,” the man replied, rising to his full height and
slowly approaching her. “Now hurry up. We can’t afford to lose time.”
 
 Taking another step back from him, Sansa felt her eyes grow even larger.
“Where do you plan on taking me?”
 
Smirking, Sandor snorted at her question. “Anywhere far enough that they won’t
take you away from me.”
 
At hearing his reply, Sansa’s heart almost stopped beating from the force of
the confusion that was hitting her. Butterflies filled her stomach as she
finally realised that the Hound had followed Robb’s army and passed through his
sentries –the gods only knew how! – with the sole purpose of having her for
himself but shivers quickly went down her spine as her surprise mixed with
consternation and horror. What would her family think? What about Winterfell
and the North? she wondered, dismayed but then another disturbing thought shook
her. He came to abduct me.
 
Seeing her terrified expression, Sandor sighed and halted. “Wasn’t that what
you asked for when you came to my bed that night? You gave yourself to me - all
warm and eager - I didn’t ask for it. Although, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t
want you… and still do, even more now that I’ve tasted you.” The Hound’s eyes
roved over her curves as he said his last sentence, his gaze burning with lust.
 
“I didn’t ask for anything,” Sansa breathed out, shivering like a leaf.
 
“Aye, you did,” the man retorted almost angrily, taking another stride toward
her. “You told me you wanted to be mine and asked me to take you.”
 
“But it was only for the night!” she exclaimed.
 
“Only for the night,” Sandor mocked bitterly. “You thought I’d fuck you and
then leave you for another man to take even after you offered yourself so
bloody willingly to me?” His scowl deepening, the man narrowed his eyes at her.
“You even told me you loved me… or perhaps you were lying?” His tone was
threatening on the last sentence.
 
“Oh no, Sandor! I would never! And I still love you-” Sansa cried out with
conviction.
 
“Then why the fuck are you whiningso much?” he cut her off, both irritated and
confounded. “Shouldn’t you want to be with me if you did?”
 
Throughout the last two weeks, Sansa had prayed to the Seven more than a
hundred times to find a way to reunite her with Sandor once more but never had
she envisioned or wished for things to happen in such an abhorrent fashion.
“Sandor,” she began, voice trembling. “I… I do want to be with you but I can’t
leave my family, I… I have to follow them home. You can’t abduct me like that-”
 
 
“But I don’t see any other fucking way!” he exploded, something like sincerity
piercing through his fury. Daunted, Sansa took a step back but Sandor swiftly
seized her upper arm with a firm but gentle grip to prevent her from going any
further. “I’m sorry if this is not how you had envisioned leaving your family’s
nest but I’m a pragmatic man and my goal is to have you, no matter the cost and
manner,” he resumed more calmly. “You wouldn’t have stayed with your mother
forever anyhow. Women never do. Where marriage is concerned, you females are
bigger travellers than men to be sure.” Softly, the Hound brushed away the
tears that were starting to roll down Sansa’s cheeks with his free hand. “At
least with me, you know with whom you’re going and as you told me yourself you
wished to be with me, I figure I’m doing you a favour really even if you don’t
agree just now.”  With that, he turned around and began leading her out of the
clearing.
 
Offering no resistance, Sansa let him drag her through the woods, drowning in a
sea of thoughts while at the same time unable to comprehend any of what went
through her mind. Her heart was adrift between two shores, filled with sorrow
and confusion as to how she should feel. Shouldn’t Sansa be happy to be with
Sandor again? She had missed him so much as to believe she might die from the
hole he had left in her soul and therefore, to realise that he had never been
truly far from her - perhaps just a few miles behind at all time – was beyond
dumbfounding. He wanted her enough to risk his life creeping into Robb’s camp
and would have been ready to brave any danger only to get his hands on her
again but at the same time, his intentions were still to steal her away from
her family, the North and her destiny against her will. This was not something
he was supposed to do! What would her brother’s men think when they found Dacey
tied up on the clearing’s floor, when she told them that it was the Hound who
was responsible for Sansa’s disappearance? Robb will send men after us and if
they get Sandor, they’ll kill him, the girl reflected, panicked and wishing
naught more than for him to run free.
 
On the other hand, if the Hound was fast enough, Sansa would never get to see
her family again and to honour her father’s memory by fulfilling her duty.
Neither option was to her taste; Sansa belonged in the North with her family
but she couldn’t bring herself to scream for help either as this would likely
sign the Hound’s death warrant. Why can’t he understand that I love him and
will always do so but that I can’t forsake the life that has been planned for
me even before my birth? A Stark can’t act always as she wishes. This is not
right!Sniffing, Sansa glanced up at the man. He was staring straight ahead and
striding so fast that Sansa could barely keep up with him. Anger suddenly shook
her as a new thought formed in her mind. In the end, Sandor’s no better than
Mother and Robb,she decided, frowning.He thinks he knows better than I what I
want and prefers to overlook my feelings and choices as if I were only a
foolish child who’s own free will couldn’t be trusted,Sansa mused, barely
seeing anything through the tears of rage that welled in her eyes. On a whim,
she shrugged off the grip the man had on her upper arm and fled from him.
 
“Where are you going, Sansa?” she heard him growl from behind, not daring to
turn back to see if he was following. He would, she knew it.
 
Skirts bunched up in her hands, Sansa ran faster than she would have ever
believed possible, jumping over sodden dead trees and turning around bushes
with the speed of a flying bird. By some miracle, she managed to avoid all the
obstacles in her path without tripping so much as once. Taken by surprise by
her sudden flight, the Hound had apparently been slow to follow, for she could
barely hear him behind. Perhaps she would be able to reach camp before Sandor
caught up with her and then, the man would resign himself and turn back to the
depths of the woods where he came from. Is it really what I want?she wondered,
exasperated by the conflict that burned in her core. Tears blinding her, Sansa
suddenly lost her footing and slipped down a slope she hadn’t noticed. It
wasn’t truly high - mayhap seven or eight yards - but once she had rolled all
the way down, the shock dazed her for a second or two. When she turned round,
she could hear the Hound approaching dangerously and only had time to crawl
behind a thick oak tree before the man reached the top of the slope.
 
For a moment, the forest was silent and still; all Sansa could hear was the
sound of her own ragged breathing. It was as if Sandor had mysteriously
vanished into thin air, as if he had surrendered that easily and left but Sansa
knew better than to believe such nonsense. Her back pressed against the trunk,
the girl struggled to calm the frantic beating of her heart, biting her lip and
tasting the salt of her tears while waiting for something to happen. The ground
was soaked beneath her; its wetness seeping through her cloak and gown and the
coldness she felt at the contact only added to the increasing shivering of her
body.
 
“The little bird is hiding,” the Hound’s hoarse voice cut through the stillness
of the woods just as Sansa was starting to wonder if he had not in fact truly
decamped. Jumping down the slope, he began strolling toward her and Sansa could
have sworn she could feel his heavy footsteps vibrating through the ground as
he approached. “It’s no use, Sansa. You know I’ll find you, wherever you are.
Have you forgotten that hounds are the best at finding their quarry?” The man
sniffed loudly. “I can already smell your scent from here. I know you’re near”
 
How did it ever come to this? Sansa wondered, lowering her soaked face to her
quivering hands. Lovers weren’t supposed to chase each other in such a way and
the Hound was meant to be her protector, not her assailant! Although, there had
been another time, Sansa remembered, near a river in the Westerlands where she
had run from him in a very similar fashion but it had all been a game back
then. It seemed like a lifetime ago although only a few weeks had passed since.
She had been thrilled to be caught back then but now…
 
An unexpected jolt of strength suddenly overtaking her, Sansa hurriedly shook
herself and looked around her in search of a way to flee. Spying some thick
bushes not too far before her, she crouched before literally jumping into them,
hoping against all hope that Sandor wouldn’t notice her moving in the near
darkness. It was pointless, evidently. Crawling on all fours through the
branches and leaves, Sansa listened as the man strode toward her.
 
“I’ve seen you, Sansa,” he warned her lowly.
 
The loud creaks of crushed branches resounded from behind Sansa, growing closer
with each passing second, until strong hands caught her by the waist. Against
all logic, she struggled for an instant but the man was quick to raise her to
her feet and immobilise her against his body.
 
Sighing, the Hound took the time to breathe in a few times, his large chest
heaving up and down against Sansa’s head. “I got you, little bird,” he
muttered, tightening his grip around Sansa’s elbows and pulling her so that her
back was pressed flush against his torso. “Now, will I need to tie you like I
did that friend of yours? I’ll do it if you don’t give me any other damned
option, believe me,” the man hissed into Sansa’s hair with a calm anger that
froze her to the bone.
 
Breathless and unable to utter a sound, the girl promptly shook her head.
 
“That’s the good little bird I know,” the Hound murmured, some trace of
irritation still lingering in his voice. “Give me your word you won’t try to
flee again.”
 
“I won’t. I promise,” Sansa managed to voice, sniffing and staring at the
ground.
 
No words could have possibly described how terrible she felt at that instant.
The notion that she had just fled from Sandor as if he meant nothing to her was
starting to dawn on Sansa and with it, an intent rush of shame flowed over her.
She already regretted her actions but at the same time, guilt consumed her at
the prospect of abandoning her family without giving them even a single word of
explanation. On both sides, she felt like a traitor; a disloyal lover and a
miscreant daughter at once. Had anyone ever been as torn and miserable as she
was?
 
Grunting in approval, the Hound raised a hand to Sansa’s hair and caressed the
long curls with his fingers. “That’s much better now,” he said flatly. “I won’t
bind you but I’ll not take more chances than I need to either.” As he finished
his sentence, he turned Sansa around, bowed and hoisted her over his shoulder.
 
In the blink of an eye, she was raised high and from there, she could see the
camp from afar even better than previously, especially once he had climbed the
slope again. In the distance, it seemed as calm as it had been before; no one
had likely realised her disappearance yet. How long would it take for her fate
to be known? What would her family’s reaction be?
 
The Hound strode through the woods for a long time but Sansa couldn’t have
guessed if it had been an hour or two - or perhaps less - when they reached
Stranger at last. On their way, they had briefly passed by the dead body of one
of Robb’s sentries, lying on the ground, a sword wound going from his neck to
the middle of his chest. Horror-struck, Sansa had voicelessly stared at the
poor soul as they moved away and hadn’t been able to free her mind of the image
since. With each of his movements, she could feel Sandor’s solid muscles
contract beneath her and once in a while, his thick arm would readjust the
unyielding hold he had on her. He was so strong; no man could ever possibly
withstand him. Sansa sighed deeply. Never would she have imagined the idea
might one day lose some of its old appeal to her.
 
“You… you did this? You killed the sentry?” she finally managed to ask weakly
once the Hound had settled her into his horse’s saddle.
 
“I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to get to you, did I? I killed a couple
of others too but I did it all for you, pretty bird.” His lips stretching into
a joyless half smile, Sandor stroked Sansa’s face and dried her tears with
calloused fingers. “Don’t cry, Sansa. Chances are they’d have died fighting in
the war anyhow.”
 
His excuse only managing to make her feel even more terrible, Sansa jerked her
head away from his touch and began sobbing but the Hound cupped her cheek with
a hand and tenderly pushed back the wild curls that fell over her eyes with the
other.
 
“Hush, Sansa. Shhh,” he whispered as softly as he could. “I know you don’t like
bloodshed but - by the seven hells, girl! - there was no other damned option
and believe me, there’s not a fucking thing I’m not prepared to do for you,”
the man rasped, the intensity in his voice growing as he went. “I promise you
though that this’ll be the last you’ll ever suffer. I’ll take good care of you
– treat you like a queen from one of those buggering ballads you love so much -
and keep you safe until the day I die. You won’t ever lack for anything once
this is all over, you have my word on that.”
 
While a part of Sansa wanted to be touched by what he had just told her,
another was too stunned by the whole situation to be moved by his declarations
and promises. Sandor had killed for her before, that was true enough, however
these sentries had not deserved their fate. They were good men, working for the
North, only guilty of having stood between the Hound and her. Besides, how
could he pretend being so devoted to her while he had not heeded her demands
moments earlier when she had begged him to leave her to her family? If he was
indeed truly willing to do anything for her, then shouldn’t he be ready to
sacrifice too?  The hypocrisy of the Hound’s words made Sansa frown even more
deeply and she defiantly turned her head away from him.
 
Grunting in displeasure at the gesture, the man glared at her for an instant
but then abruptly swung himself up behind her. Sansa could sense frustration
oozing from him but he nonetheless stayed silent, perhaps in an attempt to
respect the distance she was putting between them although she doubted it was
truly the case. After all, it was a little late to show regard now that he had
chosen to ignore her feelings and made her his prisoner for real. I’m his in
truth now, Sansa reflected, not certain of how she should feel about the
knowledge.
 
The rest of the day’s ride was long and awkward. In some ways, Sansa kept
wishing she had it in her to break the silence and reach out to Sandor, touch
the arms that flanked her and find the comfort she desperately thirsted for in
their strength. It wouldn’t be hard; all she’d need to do was to swallow her
pride and address him again. If she smiled at him and leaned into his torso,
Sandor would undoubtedly lose no time wrapping long and heavy arms around her
and perhaps even kiss her neck and caress her face. He’d be glad for any sort
of exchange with her, Sansa knew it. In fact, a sign from her was all he was
waiting for; she could feel it in the way his attention was constantly drawn to
her, by how he watched her every movement. Sandor was obviously dying for her
to talk to him and welcome his touch again… but she couldn’t. Not after what he
had done. Just thinking back on how everything had unfolded was enough for
Sansa’s anger to be awakened all over again. She longed to make him understand
how indignant she was at his actions, how wounded she felt that he had not
considered her more. For now though, she pressed her lips together in a thin
line, hoping that by the action she might prevent the words that threatened to
leave her mouth every now and then from spilling free. She’d make the Hound pay
for his deeds by ignoring him if that was the only weapon she had against him.
 
It was pitch dark when they finally halted in some small clearing by a creek.
Sansa had seen hundreds that were similar since she had left King’s Landing,
slept in dozens and highly doubted she might know how to differentiate this one
from any other she had visited. Fearful that smoke might alert one of the
squads that were certain to have been sent after them, Sandor hesitated before
starting a fire but finally settled for an extremely small one, one so tiny in
fact that Sansa would have sworn no heat was emitted from its flames at all.
 
It was staggering how identical their situation was to the one Sansa had grown
accustomed to before their stay at the Braxs’ castle. She almost felt as if she
had turned back time, having once more only one set of clothing to call her own
and a single bedroll to share with the Hound. Albeit, sharing was the wrong
word as the old thing was far too small to accommodate them both. Sandor would
need to sleep elsewhere, perhaps leaning against a tree as he had done
previously. The weather was colder than it had been a few weeks ago however and
Sansa was beginning to worry that he might catch cold with only his cloak and
no blanket as she settled her bedroll beside the fire but she hastily chased
the thought away. Sandor was the sole one to be blamed for their current
situation and she therefore shouldn’t pity him if he lost some of his comfort
for her. He had made all the decisions that had led them to this clearing
freely and knowingly and that alone was enough to justify her indifference
toward him.
 
Sitting on the bedroll with her legs pulled up to her breasts, Sansa watched
the Hound with a glare as he watered and brushed Stranger. Anytime he turned
his gaze to her, she swiftly averted her eyes from him and tried to pretend as
if she didn’t notice his attention. Evidently irritated, the man was becoming
increasingly tense, working in short, fast movements while his mouth twitched
more and more persistently. Shutting her eyes, Sansa tried to convince herself
that she didn’t mind the hostility between them and that she had the force to
bear the tension that hung so heavily in the air or it might be cut to pieces
with the Hound’s sword. It was pointless but she couldn’t surrender so soon
either. Not after what he had done. 
 
The saddlebag was settled not far from Sansa and some pieces of the Hound’s
armour peeked out of its pockets, their dark, unpolished steel barely
reflecting the flames of the fire. He probably removed his armour to move
faster and more quietly when he came to fetch me, Sansa surmised while staring
absentmindedly at a large plate. At some point, the hue became as dark as the
night and Sansa grew taut as she realised that the shadow that loomed over her
was none other than Sandor. He was just a step from her but she didn’t raise
her gaze and acted as if she hadn’t noticed his approach.
 
“You’re hungry?” he asked after a moment.
 
Stubbornly, Sansa kept her stare on the ground and shook her head, lying even
though she knew it was not worth trying with him.
 
“I don’t believe you. You ought to be starving after such a long ride,” the
Hound replied sternly. Taking a place on the ground beside her, he stretched an
arm towards the saddlebag and fished out a large loaf of bread and some hard
cheese. Once he had cut a few pieces with his dagger, he handed them to Sansa
while watching her with relentless eyes. Glancing at his offering for a second,
the girl quickly turned her head around in silent refusal, circling her arms
even more tightly around her legs. “No. You eat,” the Hound insisted while
snatching her hand from its place and forcing the food into its palm.
 
Sighing, Sansa conceded without a fight as she was indeed hungry but tried to
hide her eagerness by nibbling very gently at the food. She could feel Sandor’s
gaze intently boring into her but she made a point of not looking back. He
nevertheless seemed satisfied by his small victory.
 
“That’s much better,” he rasped through a mouthful of bread.
 
They ate in silence and without moving much until the food was all gone but
even then, Sandor didn’t shift from his place by Sansa’s side. He stayed there
and stared at the fire for a while – almost as if he were waiting for
something. Propped on a hand and with his legs stretched lazily before him, he
was sitting so near Sansa that she could feel his warmth radiating around him
and his breath coming over her face, neck and hair when he glanced down at her.
The arm that supported his weight was settled just behind her back and
shamelessly touching her. It seemed as if with each passing minute, Sandor was
leaning even closer to Sansa to the point where she was now feeling the
hardness of his leather jerkin against her arm and back and his hair brushing
over the side of her face. In reaction, the girl only curled even more deeply
into herself and lowered her chin over her knees.
 
Either oblivious or unconcerned about Sansa’s unspoken message, the man began
nuzzling at her neck and hair. “Little bird,” he murmured in her ear.
 
Hardening under his touch, Sansa tried to shrug him away but the Hound grabbed
her by the waist, cupped her jaw and turned her face to him. “What is it,
Sansa? At least speak out, by the Seven Hells!” he commanded, his face
darkening when she didn’t reply. “Stop sulking, girl! I’ve already told you I
was sorry for all the shit I’ve put you through today. What more do you want
from me?” he asked with a sincerity that angered Sansa even more.
 
Hundreds of retorts passed through her mind at that moment and she yearned to
scream them all to him at the top of her lungs but settled on keeping silent
and avoiding his gaze instead. His face only an inch from hers, the Hound
waited for a few heartbeats. Out the corner of her eye, Sansa could see his
scowl deepening even more.
 
“Why won’t you look at me, Sansa? You know that’s the one thing I’ve always
wanted from you,” he muttered lowly in a tone of both reproach and wrath.
Snorting, he added with derision, “It’s even the first damned thing I ever
asked of you.”
 
The recollection of those faraway times gave Sansa pause. He had indeed chided
her many times and more about the reluctance she had to look at him back then,
straight in the face. While she was in King’s Landing, she had been too
frightened of him, of his terrible scars and raging eyes, to gaze at him longer
than a glance but things had changed in so many ways since then. If now Sansa
was so tenaciously averting her eyes from his, it was for much different
reasons - based on the sorrow he had caused her himself - but she nevertheless
couldn’t stop a jolt of remorse from stabbing her core at that moment.
Hesitantly, she began raising her eyes, very slowly, until she was staring
right at him. He seemed angry but his expression softened when their gazes met
and something like surprise passed over his features at her sudden
responsiveness. Their faces were so near one another that their noses almost
touched and Sansa breathed in deeply at the warm and strong feeling their
closeness triggered in her. Her restraint forgotten for a few seconds, she let
Sandor’s eyes absorb her and willingly fell into their grey pools. As always,
they gleamed fiercely, reflecting all the strength and determination that made
him such a fearsome man but under the layers of control, Sansa glimpsed a spark
of fear and anguish, the ghost of something like vulnerability that lay deeply
hidden in his soul and that had been born solely by her. He was wounded and it
was her fault, she realised with a twinge. The culpability she felt nearly
brought her to melt into him and kiss his pain away but she stopped herself
just in time.
 
Why should I feel guilty and ashamed when I am the victim in this and Sandor,
the sole architect of our current situation? she wondered, shaking herself. Was
he disconcerted that she hadn’t jumped into his arms after he had knocked her
friend out and tied her up, killed three of her brother’s men and stolen her
away from her family against her will? Biting her lip, Sansa felt tears forming
in her eyes and running down her cheeks.
 
“Stop weeping, little bird,” Sandor murmured softly, his thumb brushing the
tears away and his face approaching as if he was about to kiss her.
 
“I have every right to cry,” Sansa replied in a whimper, frowning and jerking
her head down to prevent his lips from meeting hers.
 
Seemingly glad to finally hear her voice after hours of silence even though she
had just refused his kiss, the Hound gently lifted her chin and approached her
face with his again. “Sansa, I did all this for you. I couldn’t possibly let
you go after that last night we spent together-”
 
Pushing her palms against Sandor’s chest with all her strength, Sansa managed
to free herself from his grip but the force she used added to his sudden loss
brought her to fall on her side. Hastily, she crouched and backed away from
him. “How can you say you did all this for me when I never asked for any of
it?” she cried out.
 
Losing no time, she stood and took a step back but the Hound was quick to jump
to his feet and take hold of her once more.
 
“You said you wouldn’t try to flee from me again, remember? You gave me your
word,” he hissed, hands locked tightly around her upper arms.
 
“I was not fleeing. I just… I just need space!” she almost yelled, trying to
free herself from his grip. She struggled shortly without result as Sandor only
tightened his hold on her, pulling her flush against him. When Sansa was
resigned that he wouldn’t let her go, she resumed speaking. “You act as if what
you did was normal, as if it was nothing! You can’t do that, Sandor! You can’t
expect me to behave as if naught happened when you have just kidnapped me!”
 
The Hound snorted, his scowl deep as ever. “See, that’s exactly how I feel too.
You came to my bed, gave yourself to me as no woman has ever done before… you
even told me you loved me, by the Seven bloody buggering Hells!” At that he
snorted again before lowering his face closer to Sansa’s. “You truly believed
I’d let you go after that, act as if naught – as you just said - had ever
happened? Find myself a hole to hide in, fuck my hand and cry for the rest of
my life? That’s not who I am, Sansa. I’m not the kind of man to lick his
wounds, feel sorry for himself and do nothing about his condition. I’m a man of
action and I’ll certainly not let my chance pass under my nose when I see it.
And you’re more than just a mere chance, Sansa. You’re everything I want… and
you even want me back.”
 
“But this is just not right! Things are not supposed to happen in such ways!”
Sansa complained, head tilted back and gazing straight at him.
 
Eyes narrowed at her, the man snorted a short dry laugh. “Who says how things
are supposed to happen? Huh?! Tell me! Those stupid songsyou love so much
again, I’d wager?” he answered to himself even before she had a chance to open
her lips. “Here’s some bloody news for you, little bird. We’re living in the
real world and I’m certainly not made of the same fucking stuff as the witless
heroes of your twice damned songs. I’m not going to sacrifice myself for the
sake of something as inane and futile as honour and I’m certainly not going to
surrender and let the damsel in distresshave her buggering happy ending with
anyone but me, even though I’m the fucking villain in this story.”  
 
“But…” Sansa breathed, eyes wide and filled with tears, at a loss as to what
she might answer.
 
Firmly stroking her upper arms with his fingers while not truly loosening his
hold on her, the Hound added more calmly but with undeniable finality, “You’ve
sealed your fate, Sansa. You offered yourself to me and I’m not giving you
back. Ever.”
 
The confidence with which he stated his last sentence served to convince Sansa
that she would never see her family again, that she’d be the Hound’s forever.
Confused as to how she should feel, her weariness became suddenly impossible to
bear.
 
“I’m tired, Sandor. Let me go to my bedroll. Please,” she asked weakly, eyes
lowered to the ground.
 
Narrowing his eyes at her, the Hound hesitated for some time as if he feared
that by removing his hands from her, she might fly away into the sky. They
couldn’t stay like that – standing in the darkness of the wood – forever though
and therefore he finally let her go, watching from his place as she slid under
the blankets. Without a word, Sandor found himself a tree on the other side of
the fire once Sansa was settled and leaned upon its trunk. Both of them stayed
silent and distant for the rest of the night and while Sansa’s sleep came with
difficulty, cold and shivering as she was, she never dared call for him.
 
 
 
And now, a little message:
 
You girls have no ideas how much I was excited to finally write that scene.
I’ve started this whole fic mainly because I wanted to bring SanSan in a place
where Sandor would kidnap Sansa and it wouldn’t be too much out of the blue but
still, I didn’t want Sansa to be happy to be abducted. If she were after all,
it wouldn’t be an abduction anymore.
 
Anyone who had read my other fic ‘Moon Gates’ might have noticed that I have a
really unhealthy obsession about the Hound kidnapping Sansa… I don’t know why,
it’s just something that I truly enjoy reading about, writing or imagining. I
know, I’m wrong.
 
Anyway, I hope I haven’t shocked anyone with this. I’m waiting anxiously to get
your comments. :)
 
 
 
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello girls!
     Whoaaa! The final chapter!!!!! Let’s see if you like it!
     I’d also like to give a giant thanks to my beta Wildsky_Sheri who
     helped me all through the process of writing this story. Without her,
     it would never have been as good!
                                    Sandor
                                        
 
The weather had been far from pleasant over the past few days. Well, more
precisely, it had been fucking horrible and Sandor had kept cursing the
Riverlands and the buggering rivers that gave the damned region its name every
time the stream was revived. Sure, autumn was humid everywhere but this was not
just the regular seasonal rain any other part got. No, it was much worse, as if
some mocking god had decided he had seen enough of Westeros and its thrice
damned war and concluded that drowning the continent under a whole new sea was
the wisest thing to do. Or perhaps it was a message from the Mother, a way she
had found of punishing Sandor for having stolen someone’s daughter. Stop that,
Dog. You’ll grow devout next, he chided himself, irked. The thought might have
held some mirth but it only made his mouth twitch.
 
Thankfully, the sky had at least stopped pissing on them so bloody heavily
today. The showers hadn’t ceased completely but they were much lighter now to
the point where someone who’d spent his whole life in times such as those he
and the little bird had known previously might have actually taken the drops
for mist. Neither of them was fooled, of course, but the respite was welcome
anyhow. While it wouldn’t be enough for Sandor’s cloak to dry even slightly,
the piece of clothing wouldn’t get further soaked either and thus the man was
certainly not about to complain. In the end, what mattered most in his eyes was
the girl’s condition and as she had been wearing a good quality cloak –
probably made of the pelt of some local beast - on the morning he had come to
fetch her, the dress she wore underneath was still almost completely dry. At
least he wouldn’t have her suffering a fever and although the knowledge was a
small relief, it was still something Sandor could cling to.
 
Five days had passed since that dawn Sandor had crept into the Northerners’
camp and stolen always their most precious and beautiful jewel. Five long and
miserable days, where Sansa sat in front of him in the saddle – as she did just
now - sheltered under both their cloaks while leaning into him and accepting
the warmth he had to offer but without giving him any of what he truly yearned
for in exchange. Aye, she had stopped ignoring him completely after the fight
they had had on their first night and she did reply whenever he addressed her
now, however, the conversations they had – and using that word was quite an
overstatement – were mostly monosyllabic and always on his initiative. Still,
the girl’s cold attitude wasn’t something he could really reproach her for if
he wished to win her back and thus he kept trying to swallow up his anger and
be gentle with her no matter how hard it was.
 
And by the Seven Hells was it fucking hard indeed! More than a few times Sandor
had had moments where he feared he might explode and let his annoyance show all
too plainly, or even worse, yell at the little bird and shake her as he had
done in his small room at Riverrun. Anytime the threat that he might lose
control became too strong, the man would go for a short walk in the woods,
sometimes letting off the steam by cutting down a tree or two - turning their
trunks to pulp when he forgot himself.
 
Every night, the girl settled her bedroll as far as possible from the tree she
thought he’d be more likely to sleep against and made it clear by her demeanour
that she didn’t want him to get too near. Repeatedly, Sandor had not heeded her
unspoken suggestion and let his most basic instincts take the lead by snaking
an arm around her shoulders, caressing her face or nuzzling at her neck and
hair. These impulses were stronger than his restraint; it was as if Sansa’s
skin called for him, begged for his lips and teeth to nibble at every inch and
Sandor certainly couldn’t refuse such an appealing demand. The only problem was
that the girl was apparently oblivious to the temptation her own body presented
to him. While she never squirmed or tried to chase him away, she was always so
cold and stiff under his touch that he hadn’t insisted further and instead let
her be each and every time. In those lonely moments, Sandor hadn’t been able to
restrain himself from wondering if, stoic as she was, the little bird would
truly resist if he raised her skirts, spread those smooth thighs of hers and
buried himself in the depths of her cunt. Surprisingly, although his guess was
she wouldn’t, Sandor had never crossed the line as he yearned for far more than
a simple fuck from her. He wanted all of her, in every bloody sense of the
word. After every rejection, the man always promised himself he’d wait for
Sansa to come to him but he nonetheless never failed to crack up and try his
luck again. Evidently, each attempt was as useless as the last. The girl had
basically shut down on him.
 
Why the hells should I be surprised that a young highborn girl is so horrified
at being abducted by the likes of me? It was written in the fucking sky and all
the buggering stars that shine in the night that things would go this way.How
Sandor had not envisioned that Sansa might react so if he tore her from the
family she had waited tobe reunited with for almost a year was indeed a wonder
to him in retrospect but at the time, he’d been too fucking blinded by all the
sweetness she had given him to see straight. In the end, he was highly tempted
to believe he couldn’t be blamed for his actions. After all, a woman shouldn’t
be so generous with a man – especially one as starving as him – if she didn’t
intend to stick with him. It was her own bloody fault really, Sandor kept
repeating to himself. It was absurd and stupid that he felt guilty now. How did
I ever turn so damned soft? he wondered, scowl deepening and jaw clenching
tightly. He had sincerely believed that after some reluctance and tears at
first, the girl would end up being grateful he came back for her. Stupid dog,he
mused, spitting on the floor beside him.Perhaps Sandor was as naïve as his
little bird, believing in his own foolish sort of song. Chances were though,
that if he was patient enough, Sansa would eventually let go of her grudge and
become all warm and tender for him again– it was a well known fact after all
that stolen brides never resisted their forced husband for too long - but he
would never find out now.
 
Sighing, Sandor let his hand creep under Sansa’s hood, slowly caressing her
long curls and brushing her face with his fingers. Her skin was so soft and
perfect under his touch; it was as if his dirty, killing hands caressed a gem
not meant for him. The girl didn’t even flinch at the incongruous contact but
her acceptance didn’t mean much, for even if she had willed it, in the
proximity of a horse’s saddle her options of flight were obviously quite
limited. She was as stuck with him as she had been with Joffrey, Sandor had to
admit and the parallel frankly disgusted him.
 
The girl’s recent stoicism was even worse than her ancient rejection, the man
had realised pretty quickly. He had always secretly yearned for her smiles and
gentleness, that was true enough, but most of all, her attention was what he
had always willed her to give him. It hadn’t truly mattered at first, while
they were still at the Red Keep, if her reactions were triggered by fright and
disgust; all Sandor had wanted – no, needed – was to watch her do something
while knowing he was the sole cause of her actions, even for the shortest of
moments. He hadn’t demanding at the time; even seeing Sansa shiver or squirm in
panic under his gaze had held its sweet appeal but his criteria had
dramatically increased as he had travelled with her and learned what it felt
like to be regarded with something other than fear by a woman he desired so
fiercely. Now that he knew the taste of it, Sandor couldn’t bear losing it all.
The current situation was made even worse by the fact that the little bird was
by his side at all times, so near and untouchable at once. He felt like a man
dying of thirst damned to watch an unreachable river shine under the sun yards
from him while never getting a chance to taste a single drop of its pure water.
In that sense, Sandor regretted having abducted her. At least if he had left
the little bird in her nest, the last image he would have kept of her would
have been one of her moaning and writhing in ecstasy under his touch, overjoyed
at having his cock sheathed deep inside her, not one of a pouting girl not even
daring to look at him longer than a glance. There was no use regretting it.
Whenever Sandor tried to figure out another manner he might have acted after
the night Sansa had crept into his bed, he came face to face with a dead end.
There was indeed no fucking way he possibly could have let her fly away without
at least one try at getting her back in his clutches. She was his and meant to
be. It was simply a desolating pity that she didn’t realise how buggering true
it was. The idea still tortured him and always would most likely.
 
The morning after Sansa had visited his bed and showed him every bloody thing
she had to offer, Sandor had been completely amazed that the shy girl he had
known thus far truly hid such a fierce little creature behind her usually so
proper facade. She was hot-blooded and willing in truth, although still
innocent and hesitant but mayhap it was that mix of keenness and timidity that
had aroused him so much. The little bird’s maidenly curiosity had sent his
blood boiling to an extent he had never experienced previously. Before that
night, Sandor would never have dared to hope that Sansa might be interested in
even a tenth of what he dreamed of doing to her. He had been mistaken though.
The girl wanted him back with an eagerness that couldn’t be denied. Naught had
ever been so beautiful to him as witnessing the object of his every desire beg
for his cock to thrust deeper into her folds. Her cunt had been wet and ready
as no whore had ever been for him and the notion that his little bird could
surpass in such a matter –without even realising it - these women that had made
fucking their profession was simply mind-blowing. How could he have doubted her
lust for him after that? She had been a maiden, oblivious to her own need but
Sandor had seen it, touched it, drunk it… Her cunt had screamed her longing and
he had obeyed its command, fucking it senselessly while listening to Sansa’s
sweet cries of pleasure.
 
And as if all that hadn’t been already fucking astonishing enough, not only had
Sandor fucked her but his little bird had fucked him back too, relishing his
cock like a famished beast craves food. She had jumped onto his lap as if she
yearned to swallow his shaft and make it disappear into the boiling heat of her
insides. At some moments, the friction between the skin of his member and the
tightness of her cunt had been so intense that Sandor had almost been ready to
believe his manhood might turn to smoke. Oh, but would that have been a nice
way to lose his cock… He’d be ready to risk it again anytime.
 
Once he had been shown the door by the girl’s kingly brother mere hours later,
Sandor had had but one idea in mind: get Sansa back by any means necessary.
Unfortunately, there had been but one option to make that happen. He’d need to
steal her away. During his stay at Riverrun, Sandor had heard about a wedding
that would soon tie the Tullys and the Freys that the Northerners would be
heading to shortly. If he could follow their party as they travelled to the
Twins without being noticed, he’d surely get the girl isolated sooner or later
and then, it’d be only a question of seconds before he set his hands on her
again.
 
It was of course slightly ridiculous that Sandor would go to so much trouble
abducting the girl when she had been under his charge just a few weeks ago. No
obstacle had prevented him from snatching her away back then… apart from Sansa
herself, of course. True, she had been pretty generous with her kisses and
smiles as they travelled the Westerlands and he couldn’t really have been
blamed if he had read those gestures as an unspoken assent to do whatever he
willed with her but Sandor had nevertheless not been fooled. There was no
trusting the actions of a maiden as innocent as the last rain. If she consented
to such intimacy between them, it was merely because she perceived him as a
convenient first subject she could test her seductive might upon. In those
conditions, kidnapping Sansa would have meant the end of the sweet little game
she played and the beginning of a lifelong hatred instead. Some men wouldn’t
have stopped themselves over such a trivial detail as a woman’s consent and
Sandor envied them their simplicity. Life would have been made much easier if
he had shared their carelessness. Instead, he had the bloody malediction of
wanting Sansa willingand therefore,he had forced himself to forgo any abduction
plan and escorted her to the Riverlands as planned.
 
His view of the situation had been dramatically transformed however, once Sansa
sneaked into his bed ofher own free will, offered him her maidenhead and told
him she loved him. As much as the gift of her innocence had staggered him, the
little bird’s unexpected confession was undeniably what triggered Sandor to
reconsider his previous resolution. If she loved him, she’d want to be with him
and forgive him for kidnapping her once all was done. She’d even be grateful
for his actions with time, or so Sandor had stupidly believed…
 
With that unshakeable conviction clouding his better judgement, the man had not
waited very long before turning back once his escort left him to his fate some
way south of Riverrun. A column as big as the Northerners’ was anything but
hard to locate and thus, it had been only a question of days before Sandor
followed in its wake from afar. By night, he had made a habit of approaching
the camp, getting increasingly bold as the days went by, until he was
comfortable enough to bypass the useless sentries the girl’s buggering brother
used while knowing his intrusion would pass unnoticed. During those visits,
Sandor had taken note of the soldiers and workers’ routine and of the hours he
might expect them to be distracted. He had even beheld the little bird from
afar on a few occasions and marked the placement of a number of tents in which
she was likely to sleep in. From then on, Sandor had always favoured that area
when he approached the camp and spent hours hiding in the distance in hopes of
a chance to glimpse her. At one point though, he had grown tired of watching
impassively and decided it was time he took the fucking matter into his own
hands. He’d known it was best to act and soon before they reached the Twins and
the girl was caged in a castle once more.
 
Every morning, Sandor knew Sansa took a walk with that lanky friend of hers
while the column got ready to leave. He’d never find a more convenient moment
to get her in his reach and hence on the chosen day, the man had waited until
he located the little bird - unmistakable among a thousand others even from
afar with her long, red curls and light gait – and headed immediately towards
the woods where the sentries were supposedly hidden. Naught said efficiency and
discretion like the straightforward killing of anyone who might get in your way
and thus Sandor had not hesitated an instant before cutting the throat of the
few men he felt were more at risk of stumbling into him later. Once that was
done, finding Sansa again had been just as easy. The only real challenge of his
morning had been to neutralise the warrior wenchwithout killing her. Not that
he’d have lost any sleep over some additional blood on his hands, only, as the
little bird was certain not to appreciate witnessing her friend getting
slaughtered before her eyes, Sandor had made the extra effort and managed it
just fine. With the wench bound and the sentries annihilated, Sandor had
decamped from the area moments later, his precious prize over his shoulder.
 
The girl’s reaction at being captured had been similar to what Sandor had
predicted but his own weakness at withstanding her rejection had surprised him.
In a way, he had foolishly hoped - even though he’d never have dared admit it
to himself - that she wouldn’t resist and that she’d forgive him and kiss him
almost instantly. If she saw how much he wanted her - Sandor had believed - and
how far he was willing to go to get her back, Sansa would doubtless jump at his
neck the moment she saw him. Wasn’t that what women did when the man they loved
came back for them? She had indeed told him she loved him and the sincerity
with which she spoke the words had been indisputable, only in the end what did
a young, barely-flowered girl know about love? He shouldn’t have taken her
confession for granted as he had done so blindly or perhaps – and this was more
likely - Sandor simply didn’t understand the damned feeling at all. What’s a
bloody brute like me supposed to comprehend about a thing as useless and
fucking ridiculous as love anyhow? At the thought, the man snorted in derision.
He knew more than he was willing to admit to himself, or else, why do something
as witless and senseless as what he was doing just now? Why make such a bloody
irrational decision as the one he had two days ago?
 
The forest was getting sparser around them. They were indeed on the right
track; just there on their left, Sandor could now discern the broken tower of a
ruined castle they had come across a few days back. It wouldn’t be long before
they reached the Twins and if the Northerners had left the place already, the
column would be as easy to locate this time as it had been previously.
 
“The tower…” Sansa suddenly whispered, speaking her first words since dawn.
 
It was about time she realised they had turned back. Sandor was quite surprised
she hadn’t taken notice before.
 
“It… it looks exactly like…” Jerking her head upward, the girl gazed at Sandor
with wide, questioning eyes. When she saw his wry, unchanging expression, her
mouth opened in shock. “You’re bringing me back?” she stated more than she
asked.
 
At that, Sandor sighed in annoyance at himself. “Aye, I am,” he rasped wearily,
shaking his head at his own stupidity and gazing anywhere but at the little
bird.
 
A moment of a silence passed and the man was quickly irked that he didn’t get a
greater reaction at his revelation. Scowling, he lowered his stare to the girl
and clenched his jaw when he saw how little pleased she seemed with that
delicate face of hers frozen like a statue and her usually white skin now ashen
and sickly.
 
“Wasn’t that what you wanted, Sansa? I stole you away but despite what I’ve
told you, I’m about to give you back.After you’ve cried all these days for that
damned family of yours, I’d have thought you’d at least thank mefor freeing
you,” Sandor hissed between gritted teeth, his frustration getting thicker with
each word he said.
 
Lips trembling, the little bird fixed disbelieving eyes on him. “You can’t
really mean to do that, can you, Sandor?” she asked weakly.
 
The situation was growing increasingly less comprehensible to Sandor. While he
had grudgingly come to understand that she might be unhappy about the prospect
of spending the rest of her days with him, he had believed that once the girl
learned he intended to give her back to her family, she might at least resume
offering him the genuine smiles and gentle touches he had grown accustomed to.
Sandor had badly wished for a few last nice gestures on her part - something
sweet he could remember afterwards - whatever happened to him once they met
with the Northerners again. Apparently, even that had been too high a demand.
Instead of smiling kindly at him as he had assumed she would, the little bird
was now staring at him with the same amount of terror shining in her eyes as if
he had kidnapped her all over again. The realisation that he would never get
anything more of what he desired from her – even the chaste part of it -
stirred the rage that had been boiling in Sandor’s veins for the last few days
but that he had by some fucking miracle been able to keep at bay until then.
“Why, you think I’m riding in circles in a buggering war zone just for the fun
of it?!” he snarled at her.  “This is no jest, Sansa. I’m bringing you back.
I’ve had enough of you wetting your bloody pillow every night.”
 
Seemingly shaken by the intensity of his reaction, the girl jumped back but she
nonetheless managed to utter a faint retort after a few seconds. “I just don’t
understand. How will you ever manage to get to my family?” she murmured, eyes
gleaming with moisture. “There are thousands of soldiers surrounding them!”
 
“You’re mistaken, little bird. Their number is exactly what will make the job
of finding them easy,” the man grunted flatly.
 
“That’s not what I meant, Sandor. I was wondering how you’ll ever be able to
bypass all my brother’s men this time around. I’m certain the camp will be far
better guarded now, after what happened. You’ll never succeed at getting near
enough to the column to give me back without being noticed,” she stated, her
tone anxious and convinced at once. “How could you possibly manage such a
thing?”
 
“Do I look like a fucking soothsayer to you?” Sandor retorted, a whole new wave
of annoyance flowing over him. The burned corner of his mouth was twitching
more persistently now. “I don’t have any fucking idea how or if I’ll ever
manage to decamp from your northern buggers but I truly don’t give a damned
shit. I’ve made up my mind to lead you back to that twice blasted mother of
yours so you can hide in her skirts again and I’ll do it, whatever the
buggering cost is.”
 
Apparently getting nervous, Sansa began to glance around her as if lost. “But,
Sandor! If you do that, they’ll catch you and I don’t see them being merciful
once they do!” she cried, voice breaking before she raised her gaze to him once
more. “This is not a good idea, Sandor. I’m sure you’ll be seen and once you
are, they won’t let you flee, you can be certain about that! They must surely
think you took me against my will-”
 
“I did take you against your will, Sansa! Don’t you fucking remember?” Sandor
exploded, totally incredulous and angry at once.
 
“Yes, but they don’t know that I love you! They have no idea of what we
shared!” Tears were welling in the little bird’s eyes and she pressed her hands
over his chest, clutching at his armour. “Sandor, you have to turn back once
more, you can’t-”
 
“Now what? You’ve changed your mind again? Because you’re frightened for me?”
He laughed bitterly at the thought. “Don’t be, I’ll be just fine.” Raising his
stare to the horizon, Sandor tried to ignore the pleading look the little bird
was giving him.
 
“No, Sandor! Listen to me!” she exclaimed desperately while clenching the
sodden cloth of his cloak in her tiny fists. Tears were rolling down her cheeks
and mixing with the light rain that still fell over the forest. “Forget
everything I said and did. I don’t want you to get executed for me and we’ll
never make it into camp without you being seen… Sandor, let’s turn back. I’ll
go with you to the Free Cities and won’t complain anymore, I promise.”
 
“You can’t keep on changing your mind like this, little bird. You’ll only
confuse everyone around you,” the man sneered, his face lowered over hers but
then he grew serious again. “I don’t want you unwilling,Sansa. You’re not
changing your mind because you want to follow me but only because you don’t
want to have my death on your conscience,” he rasped in a low, sombre voice.
 
“No! You don’t understand. I’ve always wanted you, Sandor,” Sansa exclaimed,
out of breath through sobs and sniffs. “I just had to make a choice and as I
wished to fulfil my destiny as a Stark, that’s the one I picked but I don’t
care anymore-”
 
“Don’t lie to me. You still do,” the man snapped. His scowl deepening, Sandor
spat on the ground beside him and sighed. “Now, stop squirming and calm that
damned weeping. I’m bringing you back to those foolish Northerners you love so
much so you can be a bloody Starkas you’ve made so damned clear you yearn to be
more than anything else.” Bracing his back, Sandor raised his gaze from the
girl. “And just so that you know, I don’t mind risking losing my head,” he
added in a bitter growl. “It’s ugly anyhow and my life’s not worth piss.” 
 
A lightning bolt passing through her eyes, the little bird vigorously shook her
head. “No!” she shouted before unexpectedly jumping from the saddle and running
away from him.
 
“Sansa! What are you doing! You told me you wouldn’t try to flee from me
again!” Sandor yelled. In a brusque and sudden movement, he halted Stranger
while watching the little bird’s silhouette disappear into the thickness of the
woods. Would he continuously need to race after her until the very last instant
he’d have her under his care? It seemed to him at that moment as if it was all
he had ever done. “Sansa, stop! Don’t be stupid! Where would you go if you lost
me? There’s no one out there! You’d die in the woods!” he shouted, jumping from
his horse and sprinting after her.
 
Sandor hadn’t worn his armour the last time he had needed to chase her and the
damned thing slowed him quite a lot now. He couldn’t let her lose him though;
it would mean her death for certain. After all, it had taken the damned girl
more than two full days before she finally noticed they had turned around. How
could she ever possibly know where to go and how to subsist by herself in these
conditions? A sweet little creature like her wasn’t meant for the real world.
She had been trained her whole life to act the proper lady in every buggering
situation; to sing, dance and stitch but these skills were totally useless
outside of a castle. Said more plainly: her survival instinct was close to non-
existent! The awareness of how helpless she’d become without him pushed Sandor
to run even faster and yet, he was still quickly losing sight of her. What a
stupid, stupid little bird!he thought to himself. Without slowing down, he
unclasped his bulky and soaked cloak from his shoulders and carelessly let it
fall onto the forest floor behind him. If he ran faster freed of that extra
weight, he couldn’t say for sure but anything was worth trying. There was not a
fucking way in all the Seven buggering Hells that Sandor would let Sansa flee
from him only to die of hunger and thirst in the wild mere days after. If it
had to come to that, the girl was far better off staying with him. When he
caught her, perhaps he’d listen to her pleas and bring her along with him
across the NarrowSea after all. Although, that was something they could discuss
later. For now, all that mattered to Sandor was for the little bird not to
vanish in these woods with naught more than the clothing she had on her back to
shelter her from the cruelty of the weather. He wouldn’t allow her to die.
 
Just as he was getting increasingly out of breath, sweaty and worried the girl
had indeed succeeded in losing him, Sandor glimpsed the pale grey of her cloak
peeking through the branches some distances before him. The sight gave him a
burst of energy and he began rushing toward Sansa with renewed ardour until he
could discern her shape with more definition. Only, something was queer. The
little bird had stopped moving and was standing in place, staring before her.
Good for me, the man thought even though her stillness woke an uneasy feeling
in him. When a heartbeat later he had rejoined her at last, Sandor caught her
by the upper arm. At the contact, the girl jumped and gazed up at him with eyes
big and scared but the fear he saw in them was not directed toward him. His
curiosity instantly piqued, Sandor raised his stare and looked right before
them, the stench that filled the small clearing reaching his nostrils the very
instant he saw the source of the little bird’s fright. A few yards from them,
the dead body of a man was propped against a tree – or so Sandor believed
before he saw the cadaver open his eyes and look in their direction.
 
“Wine… Please,” the sorry bastard begged in a voice that was even more hoarse
than his own.
 
Feeling much better at realising how little of a threat the man they had
stumbled upon was but most of all for having retrieved Sansa, Sandor relaxed
and squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “It’s only a dying man, little bird. No need
to be frightened.” Gulping, she looked up at him and nodded.  
 
“Wine…” the wreck repeated in his rough, pleading voice.
 
Mouth twitching, Sandor left the girl and walked toward him. “I don’t have any.
I’m dying of thirst myself,” he replied truthfully.
 
Soft steps were heard from behind him and soon, the man felt the little bird
timidly hook herself onto his arm. The long forgotten sensation of her
affection almost brought him to smile but Sandor had learned years ago to keep
his feelings from showing on his face. Scowling, he returned his attention to
the dying man.
 
“I’ll give you water, if you want, and the gift of mercy,” he proposed flatly.
 
Squinting, the wreck began sweeping his red, feverish eyes from Sansa to him,
studying them for some time, until his dry lips opened in shock. “I know who
you are, both of you. You’re the Hound… and the girl here… she’s the young
Stark princess,” he muttered, sounding stupefied even though he might die any
minute and by all logic, shouldn’t have given a rat’s arse about anything.
 
The discovery of their identity seemed to startle the little bird and she
pushed her head against Sandor’s arm. Her hood had fallen and the rich colour
of her hair shone under the dim light. However horrid the scene before him was,
Sandor couldn’t stop himself from feeling exhilarated at her change of attitude
and he had to fight the urge to nuzzle at her long curls.
 
“I heard about you both,” the wreck continued. “We all did. They tried to quell
the gossips but the story of how the Lannister dog turned rabid and stole the
young and beautiful sister of the king was too spectacular to stop spreading
once it was known.”
 
 “He didn’t abduct me! I followed him willingly,” Sansa intervened, taking a
step toward the wreck as if she wished to protect Sandor from a blow.
 
“No use lying to a dead man, little bird.” Raising a hand to her shoulder,
Sandor gently pulled her against him. “Were you in one of the squads sent to
find us?”
 
“I wish I’d volunteered,” the dying man rasped, falling into a fit of coughing
at the end of his sentence. “I was looking forward to going to that wedding… if
only I’d known.”
 
“Known what?” Sansa swiftly asked, fear lacing her voice.
 
The wreck gazed at her for an instant with something like pity gleaming in his
eyes. “You… you still haven’t heard?” Seemingly pondering something, he stared
straight at Sansa as much as he could with his lack of strength. “Your captor
has ironically saved your life, young lady. If your fate is better for it, it’s
not for me to judge though.”
 
At hearing that, the girl tensed under Sandor’s touch. “What… what do you
mean?” she demanded, her words weak and trembling.
 
“The wedding… it was a trick. They butchered us all, starting with the Young
Wolf and his mother-”
 
“No! You’re lying!”
 
“It’s the truth I’m telling you, lass,” the poor bugger said, the hint of a sad
smile curling his lips. “Look at me… it’s a wonder I even got that far-”
 
“No! I don’t believe you. People don’t do such things at weddings-”
 
“Shh, Sansa. Let the man talk,” Sandor muttered, tightening his hold on her. As
if to endorse the veracity of the news, a cold wind suddenly rose and the sky
grew dark and threatening. Nodding at the wreck, Sandor bade him to continue.
“Speak. The girl needs to know.”
 
Apparently reluctant to follow a dog’s order, the dying man glared at Sandor
for a heartbeat or two but then he obeyed and gazed at the little bird again.
“The Freys yearned for vengeance, it seems. They got what they wished for. I’m
only a soldier and don’t know much about any of what happened but I saw what I
saw. They wanted to kill the Northerners and they did. They murdered the high
heads firsts but no one was saved in the end. You’re all that’s left of your
kin, lass.”
 
“No…” Sansa protested, although the tone she used made it clear she had
understood. Shaking, she turned around to clutch at Sandor and began sobbing
against him.
 
For a long moment, time was suspended. At a loss as to what he should do,
Sandor was as petrified as the girl had been when he had found her here but he
eventually shook himself and gathered her in his arms. “I’m taking her away
from here. I’ll come back with some water for you afterwards,” Sandor told the
wreck as he began striding into the woods again.
 
The walk to Stranger seemed to take forever. Sandor could feel the little
bird’s frail body quiver in his arms as he marched and in response, he held her
as tightly as he could without hurting her. He wished he knew what to tell her
but as he had never been very skilled with words, he gathered staying silent
was preferable. When they reached the stallion at last, Sandor settled the girl
into the saddle and caressed her face and hair for an instant. “I’m leaving you
for a few minutes. I’ll be back soon though. Don’t worry.”
 
Wordlessly, Sansa clung to him. Her eyes were filled with tears and Sandor was
torn between feeling enlivened by her need for him and dejected by the sudden
sorrow she was faced with. “I’m not going to be long, little bird. I’m not
abandoning you.”
 
Once he had gently pushed her from him, he fished a water-filled wineskin out
of the saddlebag and began striding into the woods again. The dying man was
easily found and Sandor didn’t care to ask him any additional questions before
he killed him. He had heard enough. On his way back, he recovered his cloak and
cursed when he realised it had fallen into a puddle of muddy water. He wrung it
out and tried rubbing off the worst of the dirt against a tree but got little
result from his effort. When he rejoined the little bird and Stranger at last,
Sandor had already decided he’d be riding all night if he could. There was no
sense in staying in these parts any longer.
 
The next few days were spent in a blur of riding only interrupted a couple of
hours at a time when they halted to rest and eat. The little bird stayed silent
most of the time and only spoke when it was strictly necessary but her muteness
didn’t bother Sandor anymore. He knew he had naught to do with her state and
thus left her deal with her grief without uttering any complaint or feeling
threatened by her attitude.
 
As they rode and slept, Sandor nearly always kept an arm folded around Sansa,
all too eager to offer what comfort he might and the girl never tried to push
him away. On the contrary, she always kept her small body pressed deeply into
his and while she cried, she would snuggle against him, calming only once he’d
wrapped his arms more firmly around her. While Sandor was more than willing to
offer Sansa his touch, the same still couldn’t be said about his words. It
wasn’t exactly that he was reluctant to share them, for he’d have given her
anything he might. No, what stopped him had more to do with the man he was, or
more precisely, the one he wasn’t. Even before he had left his father’s keep,
Sandor had always known he’d grow to be a warrior and naught else and as such,
developing the courtly art of conversation had been the last thing on his mind.
It wasn’t as if he had any aptitude where social interactions were concerned
but his lack of skills in such a useless field had never stuck him as a
weakness. When he had followed Cersei to King’s Landing years later, his
opinion on the subject had only been fortified. Quickly, he had realised how
filled with whippersnappers the bloody court was and while the whole lot of
them could flatter themselves, being refined talkers, none of those buggers
would have had a chance surviving against Sandor in battle. Of what use were
words when someone with a blade could cut you down so easily, however
sophisticated and clever your attempts in swaying them to be merciful were? The
unshakable logic of that reasoning had been one of the basics Sandor had always
believed in and the notion that his taciturn nature might one day come to be a
liability in any bloody manner would have been naught but laughable to him if
anyone had dared suggest it. How the fuck was I to predict that I’d one day
come to have a dependant and fragile little bird under my care? I’m certainly
not to blame if I didn’t prepare for the inconceivable. 
 
Whatever tricks fate had played on them, a young highborn girl like Sansa was
nevertheless certain to expect soothing whispers from her lover and yet, given
his background, that wasn’t something Sandor could provide. His sternness and
lack of sophistication were traits the little bird would need to learn to
accept if she wished to be satisfied in her life with him. Thankfully, Sandor
had no real worry that she wouldn’t. Even now, after all, she appeared content,
as much as that was possible in her condition, with the silence and arms he had
to offer. As for Sandor, he’d ride to the edge of the world with her quietly
nestled against his chest if that was what she desired and would never find it
in him to complain. The duty he felt to her was greater than anything he had
ever envisioned for himself and he was queerly thrilled at the idea that she
truly needed him now. Sandor had no stronger aspiration than to become the
shield that protected her from the harshness of the world.
 
In some twisted way, the man felt tortured over the fact that Sansa’s
misfortune had played to his advantage, that because of the disaster that had
befallen her kin and people, she was his for real as he had always longed for
her to be. He knew he should be fucking jubilant that fate had turned to his
benefit for once and he cursed himself for being unable to rejoice over the
situation as he ought to. The little bird’s dolour had irrevocably seeped into
him, it seemed. Mayhap was it what caring for someone felt like: sharing their
heartaches even when logic commanded that you shouldn’t give a shit.
 
Yet however torn Sandor may have felt, he still knew that by abducting Sansa,
he had unknowingly saved her from much worse than a life spent with him.
Chances were she’d be dead if he hadn’t acted on his compulsion and stolen her
away, or perhaps even more likely, she’d now share both bed and name with her
family’s killers. In the end, it was a buggering mercy Sandor was such an
untameable brute. It was indeed thanks to his reckless behaviour and
possessiveness that the girl had escaped the Freys’ dirty clutches.
Of course, there were undoubtedly more appropriate suitors than him for such a
highborn maidenas Sansa in a house such as the Freys’, many of which were
probably well-mannered and good looking but who would want to mix their blood
with the people who had annihilated everything you loved? While Sandor’s face
was burnt and hideous, the sight of it would at least never remind the little
bird of the slaughter of her family. There were people uglier than him in this
world and Sansa had once more had to realise it at her expense.
 
Still, as the days went by Sandor kept trying to ignore the lump he felt rising
in his throat whenever Sansa broke into a new fit of sobs. There was no reason
for him to regret her destiny - not even slightly! -but he nevertheless kept
wondering if there had been something he might have done to change the events.
You stupid dog! She’s yours! The gods have answered your every unspoken prayer,
so why should you complain?  Life is good to you and the little bird will heal
eventually. She’ll be thanking you later, when she comes back to her usual
self.
 
Throughout all this, Sandor was well aware that he’d had it pretty damned easy
in the end. By saying no to any compromise and taking what he wanted, he had
paradoxically become his victim’s rescuer but the beauty of it didn’t even stop
there. Just before he and Sansa had learned the terrible news, Sandor had been
about to reconsider his decision to return the girl to her kin. After he’d seen
her cry and beg him so beautifully not to bring her back to her family at the
risk of his life, there had been not abloody chance in all of Westeros that
Sandor might possibly have resisted the temptation of taking her with him to
Essos. He didn’t need to tell her that though. If she could keep on believing
he had been willing to sacrifice himself for her and that naught could ever
have possibly made him change his mind, it was all the better. He’d have her
grateful to him in every sense of the buggering word. Life was beautiful. Or so
Sandor logically should have thought.
 
****
 
Days had passed since the afternoon they had stumbled upon the dying man and
learned the news of the Northerners’ massacre, although Sandor couldn’t have
said how many even if his life had depended on it. The little bird didn’t cry
so much now and while her bleakness was still undeniable, she was nevertheless
getting more and more affectionate and tender toward him. Sandor would have
been the worst of liars to pretend he didn’t enjoy that change in her. The girl
would recover; she was a strong little thing despite appearances and that was
certainly a source of pride to him.
 
His guilt was also fading. Sandor was now convinced he had done the right thing
abducting the little bird even though he had not realised how true it was when
he made the decision. Notwithstanding his growing certainty, it didn’t stop the
man from getting increasingly weary of their intent travelling pace. He barely
got to sleep on the best days but at least the worst of the danger was now
behind them. Logically, any men who had been sent after them would have learned
of their masters’ fate by now and quit the hunt. After all, working for ghosts
is to no one’s benefit. With that in mind, Sandor had left the depths of the
woods some time past and brought Stranger onto the main road. After days spent
in the forest, the openness of the lane had made him feel exposed and uneasy at
first but the dramatic increase in their speed was well worth the lack of
cover.
 
The parts they were crossing lately were gradually growing less desolated than
the ones they had previously. Villages and farms were beginning to sprout
around them and after some reflection, Sandor had decided that if they passed
an inn, renting a room would be the wisest thing he could do. They both badly
needed the rest. Sansa was already half asleep in his arms and the risk that
Sandor might follow her into the abyss of unconsciousness was getting higher
with each hour that went by. Falling from the saddle was not something Sandor
had much desire to experience and therefore, he kept fighting against the
heaviness of his eyelids, trying to stay as alert as he could for any anomaly
on the road but his strength was quickly deserting him. Chances were they’d
need to sleep in the wild once more and yet Sandor’s stubborn determination
kept him going.
 
The sky was already dark as tar when the little bird unexpectedly stirred in
his arms. The man had been just about to believe she had fallen asleep for good
and thus, he was slightly surprised when he felt her twist in the saddle.
 
“Sandor,” she breathed, gazing up at him. In the gloom, he could barely see her
but the moonlight caught her eyes and her beauty was revealed to him once more.
She looked drowsy but somehow, it only added to the perfection of the picture
she made. In the blink of an eye, Sandor was absorbed by her stare. “You do
realise you have saved me again? I owe you my life once more,” the little bird
said in a voice as faint as a summer breeze. Turning around, she pressed her
head into his arm. “You always save me.”
 
Snorting softly at her comment, Sandor tiredly smirked into the darkness. “I
came to the same conclusion myself, little bird,” he murmured with
satisfaction.
 
“You’re always there for me, Sandor. Always,” the little bird whispered so
softly the words were almost lost in the night. Shutting her eyes, she hugged
his arm with the same innocent tenderness a child would hold its ragdoll.
 
Naught could ever have been more moving to Sandor than the blind faith the
little bird now had in him. The idea that she trusted her life and destiny to
him without showing a single sign of reticence woke all sorts of queer tingles
in his core but strangely enough, the feeling was far from unpleasant. For the
hundredth time since they had started their flight, he swore to himself and all
the gods he didn’t even believe in that he wouldn’t disappoint her in that at
least.
 
They had ridden for about an additional hour when Sandor finally glimpsed some
light from afar. Before too long, the shape of a small village took form and
simultaneously, Sandor’s hopes of sleeping in a proper bed were revived. The
place was more hamlet than village, he quickly realised but there was indeed an
inn in its centre and that was all he required. Sansa had been deeply asleep
for some time now and the man decided he’d rather not wake her unless it was
strictly necessary. If he could manage to bring her to a bed without disturbing
her rest, her surprise at waking in a warm room would be all the stronger and
Sandor yearned for naught more than to be the cause of some additional smiles
from those luscious lips.
 
The hamlet was a puny thing- about ten houses or so – but the man suspected its
size was one of the factors that had preserved it from the rigours of war. For
as much as he could judge, the place had apparently been left intact. Although,
how long can it be expected to stay as such? he wondered, not truly caring to
find out. He’d be gone on the morrow but not before having asked around if any
of the villagers had changes of clothing to sell to Sansa or any of the other
bloody things a woman was sure to need for her comfort. While Sandor didn’t
have a damned clue of what that might be and really didn’t care one bit to
learn about it either, he’d nevertheless get the little bird anything she asked
him to purchase. It wasn’t as if he lacked the gold with all he still had left
from the Lannisters and the purse Sansa’s brother had given him before he left
Riverrun. Mayhap the glorious King in the North would have been even more
generous with me if he had known how events would unfold and foreseen that I
would become his sister’s protector. The idea made Sandor’s mouth twitch.If the
Young Wolf had had access to such knowledge, the lad wouldn’t have gone to the
damned wedding to begin with and never let him get anywhere near his sister
either.The thought was a pure waste of time.
 
The inn was situated in a rather small house and the place was most likely
empty that night, for when Sandor reached its step, the keeper was already
waiting for them in its entrance, probably alerted by the sound of Stranger’s
hooves
 
“Looking for a warm bed and a meal?” he asked by way of a greeting.
 
“Aye. I’ll take a room if you have one,” Sandor responded, adjusting his hood
over his head. Somehow even as he did it, he realised any effort at disguise
was useless. Anyone with a fit pair of eyes couldn’t perceive the two of them
as anything but conspicuous.
 
Sweeping his gaze from Sandor to the little bird, the keeper gave him a wide,
fake smile. “I have more than one room available, ser. The girl could get her
own chamber if that was your wish,” he said while bowing his head in a show of
respect.
 
Scowling, Sandor stared down at the man for an instant. Chances were he was
only hoping for some extra income but the keeper’s assumption nevertheless
irritated him. How could anyone question Sansa was his? “She’s my woman,” he
snapped without thinking. “Why the fuck would I waste my gold on an extra
room?” It took a moment for Sandor to realise he had spoken the words perhaps a
little too threateningly but thankfully, the keeper didn’t seemed the least
impressed by his outburst.
 
 “Sorry if I offended you, ser. I certainly didn’t mean anything by that,” he
replied, his annoying smile even wider than before. “Follow me inside. I’ll
show you the way.”
 
Gently gathering the little bird in his arms, Sandor dismounted and walked into
the inn’s warmth. My woman, he inwardly repeated to himself, enjoying the sound
of it. That’s what she’d be from now on and no one – not even all the buggering
kings and queens that led the wars of this world - would ever change the
veracity of it. Sandor knew he’d kill anyone who ever dared contest the truth
of it without hesitation.
 
The keeper led him to a room on the second floor before going back downstairs
to mind his business. Stepping inside, Sandor took a moment to let his eyes
adjust to the dim light. The place was far from a palace but it would do for
the night. Anything was better than the precariousness of the woods anyhow and
while the chamber was small, it was clean and had a fireplace and that was much
more than Sandor had expected. Gently, he put Sansa on her feet and began
freeing her from her wet cloak and damp dress. In the process, she roused for
an instant and complained at being disturbed in soft moans but once she was
down to her shift and laid under the covers, the girl shortly went back to her
dreams.
 
The idea of leaving her was painful to him but Sandor still had Stranger to
tend to, the keeper to pay and his saddlebag to retrieve. Reluctantly, he
hurried down the stairs with the intent of being as effective as he might.
While he was there, he’d make the most of it and get Sansa and him both food
and drinks. After all, there was no denying he was starving – his stomach had
kept complaining with loud rumblings all through the day – and some wine in his
belly was never unwelcome.
 
Once Stranger was in the stables and cared for, Sandor entered the common room
again, his saddlebag under his arm. The keeper promptly offered him some cold
meat pie that had been left from the previous meal and began describing the
dish as the finest creation anyone had ever set tooth over. Sandor almost
rolled his eyes at his excessive eagerness but nevertheless accepted a few
pieces of the pie without being begged, some of which he ate in place, while he
kept the rest for Sansa. Before he left, he paid for everything and bought a
couple of wineskins too, drinking a few gulps as he went up the stairs.
 
When at last he was back in the warmth of the room, where he longed to be,
Sandor barred the door behind him and set the pie, wineskins and saddlebag on
the table in the corner. Cautious not to wake Sansa, he began unburdening
himself of his armour very attentively, taking care not to cause any
unnecessary noise. Once the damned thing was all gathered in a pile on the
floor, the man undressed himself, barely containing the disgust he felt at the
stench of his garb. He wasn’t usually sensitive enough to give a shit about his
own body smell but his little bird didn’t deserve to abide with that. Having
gulped a few mouthfuls of wine and gotten rid of the last of his clothes,
Sandor walked to the small basin that had been left on the table. Cursing at
the bite of the ice-cold water on his skin, he proceeded to rid himself of the
filth that covered him, using an old towel he found. While doing so, he never
faltered from keeping an eye on Sansa’s sleeping form. There she was; the last
northern princess, all for him and waiting. The Queen in the North,Sandor
mused, snorting a short, dry laugh. Although he didn’t give a rat’s arse about
her claim, the idea strangely still held some sort of appeal to him.
 
More than anything else, Sandor longed to join his little bird and very soon,
he was settling his tired body beside hers. The straw-filled mattress shifted
under his weight as he lay down and a few twigs dug into his skin but no
surface had ever felt more tender. Rolling onto his side, Sandor began gazing
at the little bird’s shape and he was quickly stunned once more by her beauty.
Sleep was begging for him to claim it but Sandor couldn’t surrender just yet.
No, he needed to appreciate the prize he had won most unwarrantedly, to drink
in the sight of it until he was drunk. The light of the fireplace wouldn’t be
enough for that though and thus, Sandor swept his stare over the room. Beside
him on the bedside table, an unlit candle stood and the man grasped it as soon
as he glimpsed it. Jumping off the mattress, he brought it to the hearth and
lit its wick with the flames before settling it back to its place. Much better,
he mused, eyeing Sansa’s perfection glowing under the orange light. He needed
to see her in all her glory and admire her through the night as she unknowingly
slept. As he retook his place by her side, he almost felt like one of those
evil creatures the night crones often warned children about. Like them, he had
crept into a sleeping maiden’s chamber with the design of taking some of her
purity for himself. The thought instantly aroused him.
 
Leaning on his elbow, Sandor let his stare rove over the girl’s dainty features
as she breathed evenly and peacefully. She was so breathtaking, never had he
laid eyes on a woman so perfect… and more astounding than anything else, she
was his. The notion was absurd but oh, so satisfying. Although he hadn’t
removed her nightgown and a couple of thick blankets covered her body, Sandor
was already hard as a rock. Her smooth, feminine face alone was enough to rouse
the latent beast that slept in him. Purposely avoiding the most erotic parts of
her body, he began caressing her as softly as he could and pressing himself
against her. The thin fabric of her shift was teasing him as it brushed against
his bare skin and all he yearned to do was to tear the buggering cloth apart
and find his way to the warm sanctuary of her womanhood but he didn’t dare
bother her sleep. He’d have plenty of time to claim her later and therefore, he
resolved to content himself gazing at the flawless oval of her face and
caressing her amazing red curls.
 
Each time the girl inhaled, her delicate nose and mouth moved and her pure,
youthful skin stretched very slightly. The sight was beyond moving to him. My
woman, he repeated to himself once more, savouring the words. The gods had been
terribly cruel to her but all the while, they had given him the most precious
present a man could ever wish for. He’d keep her as jealously as he could.
 
Although Sandor had not faltered from his resolution to respect the little
bird’s peace, his cock was aching to a point where it was getting fucking
unbearable. The pressure in his shaft was so intense that getting some of his
seed out was actually more a question of sanity than a simple search for
pleasure. With that in mind, Sandor seized the damned thing and began to stroke
its length very slowly. He felt instantly better and rolled onto his back for
more comfort all the while never detaching his stare from Sansa. The purity of
the spectacle she made was certainly arousing to Sandor but the knowledge that
he had already spoiled some of that innocence and triggered her maiden’s blood
to leak between her creamy thighs with the very cock he held was even more
stirring. Entranced by the almost mystical way her porcelain skin glowed under
the dim light, the man increased the rhythm of his movement. His eyes racing
madly between the tip of her shoulder that shyly peeked out of her shift, her
angelic and serene features and the violent redness of her fine hair, Sandor
let his climax hit him with not an ounce of restraint. He shook and panted, his
heartbeat resounding loudly in his ears and sustained the movement of his hand
with the same unwavering vigour until his balls were freed of any trace of
excess seed. Eyes slitted open, the man inhaled and exhaled deeply while
watching the dancing flame of the candle for a long moment afterward. Once he
had regained some of his composure, it took him all the will he had to sit up
and put it out. His exhausted body immediately falling back onto the mattress,
Sandor didn’t even care about his seed drying into the covers and happily let
the mist of sleep envelop him. Less than a minute later, he was snoring with
his little bird tucked in his arms.
 
 
****
 
Soft lips were covering his face – unmarred skin and scars alike – when he
awoke several hours later. Almost instantly, Sandor opened his eyes and saw his
little bird leaning over his torso, blue eyes narrowed as she pressed her plump
mouth over his face with no discrimination. That girl’s fucking blind, Sandor
thought to himself, astounded. Couldn’t she see what lay under her?
 
Seemingly pleased with the passionate look he was giving her, Sansa smiled
shyly at him. “I love you, Sandor,” she whispered in a voice as sweet as honey.
 
Dawn was well upon them by then and rays of light were permeating the room,
finding their way through its small window. Looking at her, Sandor had no
choice but to admit the girl he had before him was even more stunning than he
had believed on the previous night. In all the wide circle of the world, there
was beyond a shadow of doubt not one woman that could rival her beauty. Her
perfection didn’t stop there though. The little bird had been gifted with a
heart as pure as that of the Maiden herself. Even after all the horror she had
been faced with throughout the last few years, her kind, gentle nature had not
been blemished to a single degree. The notion that such a goddess reposed over
his torso, telling him she loved him sent Sandor’s blood boiling instantly.
Without hesitation, he rolled her over onto her back and pressed his mouth over
hers. Sansa squeaked in surprise but shortly opened her lips for him, meeting
his tongue with hers with a fervour matching his own. Timidly, she raised her
lithe hands over his shoulders and began caressing the skin there before slowly
lowering her palms and tracing the muscle of his upper arms with her fingers.
Sandor was already hard and ready and the feel of her delicate hands only
reminded him of another place where he’d like to be touched. Almost
instinctively, he seized her wrist and brought her hand over his stiff shaft.
At the contact, the little bird’s eyes widened and the sight made Sandor grin
in contentment.
 
“See how hard I am for you, Sansa?” he rasped wickedly.
 
Blushing, the little bird nodded shyly but despite her reserved expression,
Sandor felt her slender fingers curl around his cock. Slowly, she began moving
her fist up and down exactly as he had shown her a few weeks ago. Biting at her
full lips, she lowered her eyes at first but swiftly gazed at Sandor again,
apparently waiting for a sign of approval. Taken off-guard by her boldness, it
took the man a couple of seconds for his surprise to fade but he nevertheless
shortly narrowed lustful eyes at her and bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. The
girl’s eyes lit at the sight of his twisted face and Sandor had to wonder once
more how crazy she was. Just enough for you, dog,he decided, grin broadening.
 
Laying his hands on her body, Sandor began cupping her tits but the fabric of
her shift was getting in the way. “Take that off,” he softly whispered in her
ear while pulling at it. “I won’t suffer being the only naked fool in this
bloody bed for very long.”
 
Giggling, Sansa got on her knees and pulled the damned piece of cloth over her
head. The shift had not even reached the floor when Sandor grasped her by the
waist and brought her over the mattress again. Just as soon his hands were
trailing down her curves, seizing her underclothes on their way and making
history of those too.
 
Although Sandor had seen his little bird naked before, he felt as excited as if
she was revealed to him for the very first time. The circumstances they were in
this morning were indeed much different than those of their first night
together. The room where her deflowering had taken place had been badly lit and
windowless for one and Sandor hadn’t been in his best state either with all the
wine he had drunk during the evening. Things were much different now though,
for with each passing minute, the sunbeams were getting stronger, bathing Sansa
in their crisp light. And besides that, I’m as sober as a fucking newborn, the
man mused to himself. On the previous night, he had only drunk about half of a
wineskin and to him that was really only a starter. All the better,he concluded
with a smirk.
 
Her delicate body lying on its back, Sansa was displayed in all her bloody
splendour. Even in Sandor’s most perverted fantasies, his little bird had never
surpassed the vision she was now. Her nearly white skin was flawless and seemed
as smooth as polished ivory. As could be expected of a girl of her youth, Sansa
was very slim with a waist so small he could certainly hide it completely under
the circle of his two hands. The roundness of her firm tits was almost shocking
in a stirring sort of way next to her thinness and the curve of her hips was
similarly enhanced by the contrast. Pink and adorable, her hard nipples were
pointing at the sky as if begging to be sucked and nibbled at. Sandor was just
about to answer their prayers when his attention got caught elsewhere. Between
the silky perfection of her thighs, hair as red as that on her head grew and
the man was taken by an urge to find his way to the sweetness he knew was
hidden there the instant he laid eyes on it. Just looking at her, he could feel
his mouth water and his cock stir in frustration. He needed to fuck her and
badly.
 
When Sandor finally gazed in her eyes again, the little bird was looking at him
with a mix of innocence, passion and desire that nearly sent him over the edge
of madness. In a heartbeat, he was covering her small body with his heavy one,
well aware that he’d never be able to wait very long before he spread her legs
and took her like the beast he was. Their naked skin rubbed against one another
as Sandor kissed and nuzzled at the girl’s throat and hair, her sweet moans
only encouraging him to continue. Yearning for more of her pretty song, he
lowered his hand over the silkiness of her folds and began caressing her there
with an attentive care he had scarcely ever showed. The girl’s groans instantly
became more frantic and the sound finished convincing Sandor that he
immediately needed to fuck her. Plunging a finger into the depths of her cunt
to make certain she was ready for him, the man was elated when he found her
even more soaked than he remembered from their first time. Only a buggering
septon would refuse a woman his cock in these conditions and Sandor was
anything but that.
 
With no additional foreplay, he aimed the head of his cock against her entrance
and began thrusting his shaft into her cunt, careful not to go too fast
although that was all he really longed to do. Sansa was squirming and sighing
under him and when – halfway inside her - he gazed at her face and saw how
tense it looked, Sandor wondered for an instant if the process still pained
her. Just as he was about to enquire about it, the little bird bit at the plump
pinkness of her bottom lip and opened her eyes slightly, lust gleaming in them.
 
“Oh, Sandor,” she then whimpered softly, in a voice that definitely sounded
more delighted than distressed.
 
Relieved, the man smirked at her enthusiasm and resumed sheathing his cock
until its length was completely hidden inside the little bird’s belly. Once he
was confident there was no danger of tearing her sensitive skin, he began
moving his hips against hers. Her insides were slick and willing, ready for him
as no woman should be and the sensation of that inviting tightness was all
Sandor needed to lose his wits completely. In an instant, all rational thoughts
were chased from his mind by that primitive part any male had in him. A slave
to his animalistic instinct, the man increased his speed and began to thrust
more frantically, well aware that he’d only know respite once he’d planted his
seed deeply between her thighs.
 
Brow buried in the pillow, Sandor had almost forgotten himself for good when he
abruptly remembered he wasn’t fucking a mere whore. No, Sansa was anything but
that and a woman of her quality required to be admired while she was taken.
He’d worship her like a bloody goddess as he fucked her, Sandor decided, and
watched her face as she came.
 
With that in mind, he calmed himself, braced his back and got on his knees
without letting his cock slip out of the little bird’s cunt. The girl’s long
legs were propped against his torso, her feet resting against his shoulders and
Sandor couldn’t resist the urge to nuzzle their soft arches on the way. Sansa
giggled at the sensation and the sound of her soft laughter only added to the
man’s elation. While their new position wouldn’t allow him to kiss her, the
view he had of the little bird’s body was amazing. Seizing her hips with both
hands, Sandor began letting his shaft enter her very slowly. With each of his
movements, he could see Sansa arching her back to meet him and her face
contorting with pleasure. Soft moans kept escaping her luscious mouth and
getting louder with every thrust. Stretched around his width, the plump lips of
her cunt stirred around him and caressed his cock as he shoved it inside her in
the loveliest lover’s embrace he had ever beheld. Engrossed by the sight of
their mingling bodies, the man suddenly pulled his gleaming manhood out of the
girl’s warmth and watched in fascination as it re-entered nearly as smoothly as
a warm knife cutting through butter.
 
The view of his manhood sliding so perfectly into her transporting him, Sandor
raised his gaze to the little bird’s face and stared into her eyes. The passion
and longing he saw in them was undeniable. She was relishing the feeling of
their sensitive skins as much as he was as they rubbed and joined in the most
intimate manner possible. They shared the same thirst and hunger at that
moment, their coupling being the centre of the world for both of them. The
realisation was enough for Sandor to lose it completely. His peak would be
coming on him shortly and for a heartbeat, he considered pulling his cock out
of her burning cavern but then stopped himself. Why should he bother? She was
his now with no family left to shame if he planted a bastard in her belly. With
that appealing excuse in mind, Sandor gifted her with his seed, grinning when
he saw how unconcerned she appeared by the present he had bestowed upon her as
she came to completion herself.
 
A few minutes later, Sansa was resting against his torso and lovingly caressing
the hair on his chest.
 
“Sandor?” she suddenly asked, raising her head to gaze into his eyes.
 
“What’s that, little bird?” the man replied with a satisfied smile, tightening
his arm around her.
 
“Promise me you’ll always be with me,” she demanded softly, her eyes shining
with hope. “Tell me you’ll never abandon me.”
 
Snorting a short laugh, Sandor shut his eyes and smirked. Did she really doubt
he’d make certain to be the only man who’d ever get to know the taste of her
sweet love? She might come to regret his possessiveness with time but she’d
certainly never need to complain about him forsaking her. “Aye, Sansa, I
promise. Till the day I die, you’ll be the center of my world.”
 
His statement seemingly pleasing her, the little bird snuggled against him,
holding Sandor with more tenderness than he even knew existed. “While I was in
King’s Landing, I prayed for a knight to come and rescue me,” she breathed so
very softly after a few heartbeats.
 
At that, Sandor snorted in derision.
 
“Don’t mock me, Sandor! With all the stories and songs I have heard and sung
throughout my childhood, it’s only natural that as a hostage I dreamt of
something similar. What other hope did I have?”
 
“Aye, perhaps you’re right,” the man grudgingly admitted. After all, there was
no denying that the girl had been the most naïve thing to ever enter the Red
Keep when she arrived at the capital. She was still innocent most of the time
but she had nevertheless learned her lesson the hard way and grown quite a bit
since then. “You’ve been forced to lose a lot of your illusions through that
harsh journey of yours, haven’t you, little bird?”
 
“Some… but not all,” Sansa answered with a mischievous smile. Sandor narrowed
his eyes at her with suspicion. “After I prayed for a knight to save me, I was
disappointed at first. I believed the gods hadn’t heeded my demand… but I was
wrong, so wrong.”
 
The discussion was not going in a direction Sandor enjoyed very much.
Knights,he mused with contempt while losing his smile. Why the fuck did she
need to bring up those bloody bastards in their bed for?
 
Her head leaned against his chest, Sansa had not noticed the change in the
man’s demeanour and continued with her inane assertion with the same dreamy
voice. “Ever since I first arrived in King’s Landing, you were always there to
protect me… even when you didn’t realise it! You saved my life many a time
before we left the capital and then volunteered to escort me to my family
because you knew you were the only one with whom I’d be safe. Later, when your
mission was done, you came back to get me and although you didn’t know it,
while doing so you saved my life again. Sandor, you are the knight I prayed
for. You’re my knight.” With that, she wrapped her arms around him and held him
as strongly as her thin arms allowed.
 
Her knight,Sandor repeated to himself, jaw clenched tightly.Didn’t the damned
girl learn anything from the fucking shit storm that had blown over her life
for the last few years? She seemingly hadn’t heeded a single buggering word
that Sandor had ever told her. Those countless occasions where he had attempted
to teach her some much needed wisdom and given her advice had apparently been
lost to thin air as if they had never taken place at all. The notion of her
incurable foolishness was beyond frustrating to Sandor at that moment. By all
the Seven bloody Hells, how Sansa could still be willing to believe in such
fucking idiocies was beyond him. He was no knight! Hadn’t he told her enough
already? Highly irritated, Sandor was just about to push the little bird away
and share his wrath with her when something suddenly hit him.
 
Just as Sansa’s life had been shattered by her arrival in King’s Landing,
Sandor’s existence had been turned upside down from the moment he had set eyes
upon her. She had been Joffrey’s betrothed back then and he the Lannister dog
and by all logic, he shouldn’t have given a fuck about the heartaches and
ordeals of this stupid northerner girl. Why should a brute like him feel any
sort of responsibility toward a traitor’s daughter no one cared about? There
had been no rational answer to that question but there had been no denying
either that Sandor felt compelled to protect her. Every fibre of his being had
been hopelessly attracted to her and his interest and curiosity had shortly
turned into obsession. While they were at the Red Keep, the man had quickly
begun tracking her whereabouts and following her around during his free time to
assure himself of her safety. A helpless little thing like her needed a
protector and though she had ignored it at the time, he had already acted thus.
At court, anytime Joffrey was cruel toward her, Sandor would attempt to soothe
him and draw his attention elsewhere. While he did not always succeed where the
king was concerned, he nevertheless stopped Sansa from pushing the little
bastard off the battlements and even saved her from the mob on the day of the
bread riot. Progressively, his protectiveness had evolved into devotion and
even before the man had had a chance to realise it, every fucking detail of his
life had become about her. All he had desired was to be there for her, to be
her bloody saviour… It was without a doubt the very reason he had volunteered
to be her escort to the exchange.
 
His mind racing at a hundred miles an hour, Sandor finally came face to face
with the truth. Chances were that in the end, he was as foolish as those bloody
knights he despised so much. Like them, he’d been ready to move mountains if
the effort might make the lady he served happy. It was beyond pathetic but
Sandor had seemingly reached that level where Sansa was concerned. The idea was
infuriating - but aye - she indeed had the right of it. He was the bloody
saviour she had prayed for. If she wished it, he’d take her to the edge of the
world, avenge her whole family and kill any bugger who so much as touched a
single lock of her hair. He’d become a slave to her happiness for the rest of
eternity if it meant she allowed him to stay by her side. He was hers as
completely as anyone could ever become.
 
Shutting his eyes in a queerly pleasant despair, the man waited for the
bitterness he expected to appear at the back of his throat while he prepared to
respond. It never came. Confused, he nonetheless growled his reply.
 
“Aye, Sansa. I am. Your… knight.”
 
 
THE END
 
So here’s the end of a year-long writing process for me. I hope you all liked
reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would really love to get
your comments on this chapter, the ending and the story in its whole if you
have a minute or two to spare. :)
 
And if anyone is wondering, yes, I’ll be writing other fics. I’m a SanSan
addict!!!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!